Save Me
by FarenMaddox
Summary: What happens when the war is over and the lines aren't drawn so clearly? What happens when the enemy wants to come home and confess their sins? What happens when the Dark won't stay defeated? This is a Britain full of orphans and secrets. Please review!
1. Prologue: Collateral Damage

_**A/N:**__This is the very first chapter of the very first story in the Redemption Series. This disclaimer should be applied to every chapter following: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe. If I did, my life would be far more glamorous than it is now. I'm just here to write a good story, not make money. Bear in mind that this story and its sequels were envisioned and partially written before DH, and therefore not canon compliant after HBP. Enjoy!_

* * *

Prologue

Collateral Damage

There was another explosion, and Matt's hands tightened over his ears. He was hiding under the bed with his eyes shut, and he knew he'd wet his pajamas because he was so afraid. There were men in his house, bad men who were hurting Mother and Dad. They were wizards like Dad, and they were doing bad magic, the kind of magic that Dad went to work to stop people from doing. Two of the men were big and scary, and the other one was evil. Matt saw them before he shut his door and hid under the bed. The third man was the leader. He was telling the bigger men what to do. He was a thin man with loads of blond hair and a pointy face. Matt closed his eyes and covered his ears and tried to pretend they wouldn't find him.

"Potter won't ignore this!" Matt heard the blond man yelling right outside his door. "An attack on a fellow Auror? When he gets here, I'll duck out the back and come around—"

BOOM.

The explosion shook the floor, and Matt couldn't help it. He screamed. And he knew the blond man would come in and find him now, and he pushed himself further under the bed.

"Potter, sir, Potter's here!"

"Excellent!"

The noises and shouting outside were so loud that Matt couldn't make out anything else of what they were saying. Then the door opened, and someone pushed their face under the bed, and Matt screamed again.

"It's Matthias!" the man was shouting. "Tonks, I found Roger's son!" The man reached under the bed to grab Matt, and Matt bit his hand. He couldn't let them get him, he didn't want them to hurt him like they hurt his parents. "OW! Matt, Matt, it's Harry, don't you remember me?"

The word "Harry" got through to Matt somehow. Dad's friend Harry from work and Harry's girlfriend came over for dinner a few weeks ago. He said Matt could call him Harry and not Mister Potter. Matt liked Harry. He stopped screaming.

"Matt, it's Harry, I came to save you. Come on, we have to go."

Matt grabbed the reaching hand and let Harry haul him out from under the bed. Harry picked Matt up and held him while they ran out of the room. Harry held him too tight, but Matt didn't care, he just wanted Harry to find Mother and Dad so they could run away.

BOOM.

The explosion was so loud it hurt Matt's ears, and suddenly he was flying and he hit the ground, tumbling out of Harry's arms as Harry was knocked from his feet. Matt felt something rush past him, like strong wind, and he couldn't breathe for a moment. Then he felt pain, awful pain that was so much worse than falling off his toy broom that Matt didn't even understand it. He stared at Harry, who was jumping back to his feet, then raised his hand to his face. His face was all wet, and it hurt so much.

"It's my cousin!" a woman shouted. "Harry, _duck_!"

She threw herself on top of Harry, and a jet of light went over their heads. Both of them spun around with their wands out and sent their own jets of light. Matt saw the evil blond man duck out of sight.

"Get Matt out of here," Harry commanded, pushing the woman with bright blue hair toward Matt. Then he turned and roared, "_Malfoy_!"

The woman crouched down in front of Matt and scooped him up just like Harry did. They started to run, but then the woman tripped and Matt went sprawling again. He fell against something soft. It took him a minute to know what he was looking at. It was his mother. She wasn't moving. She had blood—

"Don't look, Matt!" the woman cried out, picking him up again. She spun and flung out a spell at the big man who'd started creeping up on her, and the big man fell over, frozen. She covered Matt's eyes. "Don't look, okay?" She hurried out the door and the blast of cool air over Matt's wet face made him hurt so bad, and made him dizzy. There were lights flashing in his eyes when the woman took her hand away.

"Malfoy!" he heard Harry shouting. "You think you can ambush me? Why don't you come out and face me like a man? You afraid you can't stand up to me in a fair fight?"

Then a voice spoke right next to Matt and the woman holding him. "I know I can't, Potter."

The woman screeched and pointed her wand, but there was a loud crack, the same noise Dad made when he disappeared to go to work.

"He's gone, Harry," the woman called out.

"I noticed," Harry said grimly, marching outside to meet them. "But we got Crabbe, junior and senior. Malfoy's got no allies left." He looked at Matt. "Merlin."

"Where's Mother and Dad?" Matt asked him.

Harry made a strange hissing noise and turned his head away. "Why doesn't he just give up?" he said, his voice sounding like he was in pain. "Why won't he just stop. His lord is _dead_. Why can't this end?"

"You know it's not you he wants," the woman said softly, cradling Matt closer. "He wants to trap you and bring Ginny out to rescue you."

"Yeah, I know." His hands tightened into fists. "My fiancee didn't kill his father!"

"He knows that. But he has to take his revenge, doesn't he? Any Weasley will do. Bill and Fleur are out of reach in France, and he'll never get a step ahead of Charlie. Ginny's the only one he can really go after."

Harry turned around with tears on his cheeks. "They're dead, aren't they? The boys that killed his father are dead. Why can't he just let it go?"

"I don't know," the woman said. "What I do know is that this boy needs a Healer."

Matt, head spinning and eyes flashing, lifted his hand to his face. It was still wet.

"Let me take him," Harry said. "St. Mungo's will be too traumatic for him, tonight. I'll take him back to Grimmauld Place. We can take care of him. He'll probably feel safer there."

She nodded, and Matt felt himself being passed over to Harry with a very detached sensation, like his mind and his body were separated. He looked over and saw that the woman's shirt was streaked with blood. He looked down at his hand. His hand was red.

Matt's vision went black.

* * *

Harry sat in the middle chair of the kitchen table at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, carefully holding little Matthias Markham. The boy was still unconscious, but Molly and Hermione had done well with the burns on his face and neck. They were trying to find a potion in a book of healing tips that they could brew up to keep Matt from scarring. He looked at the faces around him and felt some of his anger fading, while weariness set in. Sirius had left this place to him to do what he would with it, and now that the Order of the Phoenix was no longer needed, Harry had made it into a refuge.

Lupin and Tonks, whose wedding had been just weeks ago, were staying here, and the living members of the Weasley family. He'd had to bring them here, because Malfoy's vengeance would find them at the Burrow all too easily. Arthur and Molly had been too shell-shocked, a year and a half ago when they found out their sons were dead, to protest the move. Charlie had wanted to be with his family, but Bill and Fleur were expecting and decided to leave for a little while to stay with her family, until Malfoy and his remaining lackeys were caught. Harry didn't see Ginny in the press of people, but he knew where she'd be. He left Matt with Molly, telling her to take him to St. Mungo's if they didn't find the potion within half an hour, and went to find his fiancee.

She was exactly where he thought she'd be. She came here often. She never cried, but she would go still and cold, until she'd worked through the bout of melancholy and returned to her more cheerful self. Harry figured the attack tonight would have brought up painful memories. It did for him.

He came up behind her and slid his arms around her, drawing her against him. She leaned her head back against his chest, but didn't speak. He stared. It was a small memorial they'd built to the boys. Pictures of the three of them, Ron, Fred, and George, with their posthumously awarded Orders of Merlin pinned beside the pictures. There was a broken bit of Fred's wand that they'd found at the scene, and a used packet of Peruvian Darkness Powder. Clippings from the _Daily Prophet_ detailing what they'd done, with lots of words like "heroic" and "sacrifice." And Harry's contribution to the memorial—the letter they'd written, with Hermione's help, explaining what they'd done. It had all of Hermione's precise wording, but the devil-may-care jokes in the message came from the twins, and the bold heart was all Ron.

Harry was being eaten up by the need for vengeance, back then. He'd avoided Ginny and hurt everyone. He just wanted to get back at Snape for what he'd done. He wanted revenge. And while his heart was dying with it, the Weasley boys made their decision to spare him from it. He was needed to battle Voldemort, but it couldn't be done when all Voldemort's followers stood in the way. They'd found a way to deal with both problems.

They'd infiltrated one of the gathering places for Voldemort's followers, and they'd attacked. Attacked like nothing anyone had seen since Gideon and Fabian Prewett. They'd battled through a pack of Fenrir Greyback's werewolves, and found what they were looking for: Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, in a meeting with Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape. They'd killed them. They'd taken out the most serious players of the enemy's side, and they'd enacted Harry's revenge for them. But they'd died for it, the three of them.

Harry's eyes fell on the last bit of the letter. _Live_, it said. Don't let it poison you. Make our sister happy. Live. His eyes blurred with tears, and he pressed his face into Ginny's hair.

"I miss them so much," he muttered.

Ginny still didn't speak, but she laid her hands over his, pressing his arms closer around her, and turned her face into his shoulder.

Then Hermione came in. Her part of the memorial to the boys was in her arms, sleeping. Her nine-month-old daughter, Maggie. Ron had gone with his brothers to save Harry, but Hermione had wanted him to leave something behind.

"Charlie's just arrived, with a potion he uses for dragon burns. Molly's using it on Matt."

Harry nodded, and smiled softly at Maggie. He reached out a hand and ran it over her soft, fine hair. It was nearly blond now, but Molly said all her kids had hair like that as babies. Maggie would be just as flaming red as her father, someday.

"I should have left her in her crib," Hermione said, "but with everything . . . I wanted her with me."

Harry could feel the moisture of Ginny's tears soaking into his shirt, suddenly, and it surprised him. She never cried. She stepped away from Harry and held out her hands to take her niece. Hermione surrendered the lax little body cautiously, but Maggie slept on.

"Hello there, beauty," Ginny whispered, pressing a kiss to the slightly scrunched forehead. "At least someone's sleeping."

Hermione, as if reminded, rubbed her eyes wearily. "It's been a long night. Now that Matt's safe, we should all get some sleep."

Harry nodded in agreement, but Ginny shook her head. "I want to see Charlie first."

"You'd better hurry, then," Hermione said. "I think he wanted to get to bed himself."

Ginny handed Maggie back and went downstairs, Harry trailing her.

As they entered the kitchen, he saw that Lupin and Tonks were gone, Matt had been put to bed somewhere, and only Arthur and Molly were there with Charlie. He looked up as they came in and smiled. "Oh, there you are. I have some news, and they were pestering me to tell them. I wanted to wait and tell you all at once."

"Is it good news?" Harry asked warily.

Charlie grinned. "Yeah. Madam Hooch is retiring from Hogwarts."

"That's good news?" Ginny asked in bewilderment, sitting down in the chair Harry held out for her.

"It means I'm taking her place," Charlie said, grinning even wider. "I'm going to be teaching the little snots how to fly now. And with the student population built up a bit, they're going to start sorting the kids into houses again. McGonagall can't do it now, what with being headmistress, so she's asked me to take over Gryffindor."

"That's excellent, Charlie," Harry said with enthusiasm.

Ginny had a very bothered look on her face, but all she said was, "Yeah, Charlie, that's wonderful. I'm happy for you."

"I'll still be close by, you see?" he said to Molly gently, taking her hand and squeezing it.

Molly nodded, with a few tears streaking down her cheeks. "I'm glad."

Harry felt stabs of sympathy and regret. Bill's absence was hard on her. With Percy dead in an attack on the Ministry two years ago, just months before his brothers—it had been a desperate effort from the Death Eaters to distract Harry from finding the last Horcrux, and a retaliation against the Ministry for failing to recognize Voldemort's return with due reverence—Bill and Charlie were the only sons she had left. Well, and Harry, who she insisted was as good as a son, especially since he'd be her son-in-law in a matter of months. He'd delayed a couple of times, wanting to catch Malfoy before his marriage, but it didn't make a difference in his status in the Weasley family. Besides, he'd been forced to stop dragging his feet, because Ginny swore she'd kill him if she heard, "I just want you to be safe first," one more time.

He and Ginny headed down the hall together to check on Matt, laying hidden under a swath of bandages on a cot in Hermione's room.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Why didn't they offer that post to you?"

"What post?"

"At Hogwarts. Why didn't McGonagall ask you to do it?"

"She did," Harry said quietly. "I told her no, told her to ask Charlie. I'm too busy trying to keep Malfoy away from the rest of the world. Maybe in a little while, when Malfoy's been caught and when Molly doesn't need Charlie nearby quite so much. It just isn't the right time."

Ginny accepted that, and they turned back to gaze on the boy whose life had been destroyed a few hours ago.

"He's so small and he looks so vulnerable," Ginny whispered. "I just realized—he's an orphan. What's to become of him?"

"At least his scars won't connect him to a crazy murdering dark lord," Harry muttered.

Ginny gave him a look that did not strike him as particularly sympathetic. "Does he have any family?"

"His mother didn't. His father's family—they're Muggles. They remind me of mine."

"They're obnoxious?"

"They've all but disowned him. Matt is going to be a wizard. They won't want him."

"He'll be put in an orphanage, then," Ginny said sadly.

"No, he won't."

"What?"

Harry didn't even realize he'd spoken aloud until Ginny asked him to repeat himself. Stunned, he heard himself say it again. "He won't go to an orphanage. I don't want him to. Nor to the Markhams."

"Harry, what are you saying?" she asked plainly.

"We're keeping him, Ginny."

"Merlin, Harry, I'm nineteen years old! I don't want a child, not yet."

"Hermione's twenty. As am I. If she can handle it, we can."

"Harry, we need to talk about this, _think _about this, before we make this kind of decision."

Harry looked at her with the kind of determination he normally reserved for winning a war. "It's made, Ginny. Do you want to marry me or not?"

"Of course I do!"

"Matt's part of the deal, now. Think about it before you make that kind of decision."

Ginny's mouth opened in shock, and her eyes were full of hurt. "Harry?"

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be harsh. But, I'm tired of orphans growing up to kill each other because of misunderstandings and neglectfulness. That ends with Malfoy and I. Matt's going to know better than that. I want to see a future with some hope in it, Ginny. I want to give hope to him."

Her eyes had gone softer, and she wasn't bristling with anger and hurt feelings. "Let's talk about it more tomorrow, okay?"

He could tell she was not taking him serious, was chalking this up to an overemotional outburst, but he just nodded wearily. "Okay. Goodnight, sunshine."

"Night, babe."

She kissed him chastely and retreated to the room next to Hermione's, leaving him alone in the hall.

"My sunshine," he murmured with contentment, and turned to head upstairs. Everything from her shining hair to her brilliant personality had earned her that nickname. When Harry slipped into his bed and shivered from the cold sheets, he lay a hand on the empty space beside him. It was getting lonely up here. "We need to step this wedding up," he muttered as he fell asleep, exhausted.


	2. Chapter 1: The American

Chapter One

The American

Drew flicked a bit of lint off his robes, which were a simple, all-purpose black, and looked at himself in the mirror. He sighed. It was a good thing the headmistress at Hogwarts had lost her eyesight, because he didn't look like a very reputable character.

Mostly, it was the eye, or lack thereof. His eye had been missing for five years, and it still surprised him to see the empty socket, sometimes. He could've had a false eye, he thought, but that seemed cowardly, somehow. Better to admit that it was gruesome and live with it. His face was remarkably devoid of scars, but it was obvious something had happened to him. The cheekbone under his missing eye did not match the one under his good eye, and his chin and jawline were very uneven.

He shrugged. "Get on with it," he told his reflection firmly, and snapped his eyepatch into place. It might be cowardly to get a false eye, but best he didn't frighten off the children with the gaping socket. He pulled a shock of dark hair free of the band for the patch, and gave the mirror a sort of grimacing smile. He was worried about his interview, and he suddenly missed New York.

He limped out of the lovely but impulsive Tillie's flat, leaning heavily on his cane and cursing the damp weather that made his leg ache especially, and into an alley. After a quick look about to be sure no one was watching, he Disapparated.

* * *

"Headmistress?"

"Yes, Poppy, what is it?"

"The candidate is here for his interview. Argus is bringing him up."

"He's early," McGonagall observed with no evident malice or praise. "Be a dear and fetch Zacharias, would you?"

"Of course, Minerva."

Minerva gently touched her robes and her hair, checking to be sure she was presentable. She still insisted on conducting the interviews personally, but she preferred to have Zacharias here to be her eyes. He was a trustworthy boy, Zacharias Smith. He'd taken the job of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts when Potter first turned down the offer directly after the end of the war, and he'd taken over as Head of Hufflepuff as well, when Sprout had left the country. He was good with the children, if a bit aloof, and had done a great deal to reestablish the reputation of the school after it had been nearly deserted in the two years of war with Voldemort after Albus had died. It had been difficult to find people willing to take jobs at the school, and she'd started having to look outside Hogwarts alumni for candidates. She'd hired a French woman who'd been a student of Beauxbatons to teach Transfiguration, and to become Head of Ravenclaw, as Filius was beginning to feel his age and needed a little more time to himself.

This year, Minerva had suffered a double blow that she was attempting to recover from. Horace Slughorn, who'd been good enough to stay after his one year out of retirement, had passed away, and then Charlie Weasley had decided to return to Romania and his beloved dragons. Charlie's five years at Hogwarts had also gone far in regaining students. As the brother of the mighty war heroes, and a fun-loving man whom the children adored, it hadn't been hard to repopulate Gryffindor house and restart Quidditch teams when they finally had enough students. Having the affable Slughorn as Head of Slytherin had rebuilt a portion (though admittedly a very small portion) of faith in that house.

She'd been able to convince a Slytherin boy named Kilburne who'd only graduated two years ago and had gone on to a Muggle university to return to the school to take up as Head of his house, and to teach Ancient Runes, which hadn't been taught since he'd graduated. Now, she needed a flying instructor, a Potions master, and a Head for Gryffindor. The candidate whom Filch was probably bringing up here right now looked promising. He was interested in teaching Potions, and he'd responded to a note she'd sent by saying that he was a fair flyer and might be willing to instruct the first years in proper broom handling. He didn't think he'd have time to be involved in Quidditch, as Charlie had been, however, not if she wanted a dedicated Potions master. Minerva thought that could be gotten around, but it remained to be seen if he would be any good for Gryffindor. He admitted that he knew little of the four Houses here, having gone to a very small wizarding school in the United States.

"Professor McGonagall?" called out a voice in unison with a rap on her door.

"For Merlin's sake, Zacharias, you're a professor yourself, call me Minerva."

"Of course," Zacharias said smoothly, but Minerva knew better. She reminded him so often she'd lost track of it. She conjured up a chair so he could sit beside her, and then she felt him doing magic.

"What's that?"

"Just adding a cushion, Minerva," he answered, and she could hear the warm smile in his voice.

"I'm glad you got here before our candidate," she started to say, but then there was another rap at the door.

"Headmistress, here he is," announced Filch.

"Thank you, Argus. Come in, then, young man."

"Thank you for your time today, ma'am," he began, and though his speech was very proper, it had that flat Americanness to it.

"Not at all, I'm very grateful to have you apply here. It's Mr. Stevens, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am, Drew Stevens. Please, call me Drew."

"Drew," she repeated, not liking it one bit. One used first names between professors, not candidates. "Remind me where you're from?"

"New York City, but my school was in New Hampshire."

"Yes. Now, then—"

"Mr. Stevens, what happened to your eye?" Zacharias interrupted bluntly.

"What do you mean?" Minevera asked, her voice sharp.

"Forgive me, headmistress," Stevens said calmly. "I'd forgotten, I'm afraid, that you would need my appearance described. But I'm sure your assistant would be happy to."

"I am Professor Smith, the Deputy Headmaster," Zacharias returned. "Headmistress, he has a patch over one eye and appears to have had a serious injury to his face at some point."

"That's right," Stevens said agreeably. "I also walk with a cane, you failed to mention that."

Zacharias responded with silence, and Minerva's impatience flashed again.

"Well, if it's important, explain, if not, let's move on!"

"It's not very important," Stevens said slowly. "It was a werewolf attack."

Minvera very deliberately did not flinch away. "I see."

"And you're a werewolf yourself, then, Stevens? Were you planning to mention that?"

"I am not a werewolf," he said calmly. "I was not bitten. I'm sure you've heard of the problem Canada is having with lycanthropy?"

Everyone had. Hermione Granger—well, Hermione Simpson now, she'd married that Canadian Healer—and Remus Lupin and his wife Nymphadora had spent several years there lending their assistance to the struggle. Minerva nodded at him to continue.

"I spent some time up there, when they still needed as many people to fight as they could find. I was savaged by a werewolf who had not completed the transformation and who was more intent on battering me than biting me. I usually hesitate to mention it because I have met too many ignorant people who assume that contact of any kind leads to a lycanthropy infection. Forgive me for assuming the worst of you."

Smoothly done, Minerva thought, impressed, and she judged Zacharias impressed as well, by his silence. Stevens had explained himself, laid to rest any fears, and clearly indicated he was ready for a change in topic, all without ever being too direct or rude. He seemed to be a calm, collected individual with a quick mind. He might indeed make a decent Potions master. However, she did not give up, and she forced the rest of the story out of him. An amazing story, it seemed, though he'd given her much of it by letter already. He was nothing if not hard to kill.

Then they discussed his experience with Potions work. It seemed he'd had a competent instructor and ample opportunity to use and improve upon his education since graduating about ten years ago. He was nearly the same age as Zacharias, it seemed. Convinced that his knowledge of his subject was satisfactory, she turned the topic to the other positions she wished him to fill.

"Now, then, about flying and Quidditch," she said abruptly. "You had indicated a concern that you would not be able to fulfill both duties with all the attention they need. Honestly, Charlie Weasley had far too much time on his hands, with the number of students we have at this point, and being a head of house on top of it still didn't require all his time. I will admit that in another year or two, if we continue to expand as we have been, it will become necessary to divide the duties again. However, I believe at this point, as do several others, that you will find it easy to manage. The first year class is the only one large enough to split up by houses for lessons, therefore there will be a smaller number of classes to teach. It should be no trouble."

"I see your point," Stevens said agreeably. "Well, I'd certainly be willing to try. Flying lessons shouldn't be difficult, and I played enough Quidditch in school that I think I can referee matches with no trouble. I'm sure I can do it. It's the other thing you mentioned that concerns me . . ."

"Becoming Head of Gryffindor House?"

"Yes. I see that you're trying to, ah, kill three birds with one stone, and I have to admit, I've been wondering why."

Cheeky, Minerva thought, but had to concede that it did look odd. "Mr. Stevens, let us be perfectly frank. I'm sure you know at least the basics of what went on here when Harry Potter was in school and in the war that began with Headmaster Dumbledore's murder."

"I do."

"Then you can probably understand why I have had a great deal of trouble attracting applicants to positions at this school. Zacharias here has done a great deal to restore faith, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts for six years and laying to rest the idea that the position is cursed. However, we still have an exceptionally small number of students in Slytherin House, and you are the only candidate I have found for the Potions job. You know of Severus Snape, I assume."

She hoped that Stevens could not see the utter agony that still went through her when she thought of Severus and what he had wrought. She was nearly blind, and it did not do to seem weak in front of anyone more than could be helped when they were likely to underestimate her.

"Yes."

"As for needing to fill three positions at once, I had hoped to offer the headship and the flying instruction to another person, but he has turned me down, and I've left it a bit late to go looking for anyone else."

"I do understand, headmistress. I understand very well. My main concern is only that I would not be a good fit for Gryffindor House. As I said, I know little of your houses, but I'm not sure that I would fit in."

Minerva sighed. "Well, we've run into this situation before. I have a teacher here from France who is now the Head of Ravenclaw, though she was unsure of herself. We have a Sorting Hat, you know, that sorts the students into their houses. What we did with Professor Milles was simply to ask the hat whether there was any reason she would not fit in with Ravenclaw."

"Ah," Stevens said, sounding still quite calm. Did nothing faze the man? Well, of course it wouldn't, if his past was to be believed.

"I have to say I'm surprised," Zacharias interrupted, "that you don't think you'd make a good Gryffindor, Mr. Stevens. Battling werewolves for your country, and applying to teach at a school when you only planned to be here on holiday? Didn't you know Gryffindor prizes courage?"

Now Stevens did seem to be distinctly uncomfortable. Well, Zacharias had that effect on people. Besides, Minerva was too keen to hear his answer to try to repair the peace.

"I had heard it more that Gryffindor prizes courage over reason and strategy," he said. "It's rumoured that Gryffindors are reckless and stubborn. No offense to you, ma'am, I hear you were Gryffindor yourself. I only meant to explain what I'd been told."

"Well, Mr. Stevens, I can tell you that Gryffindor does place value on bravery, but also on intelligence and compassion. It's the house with the largest number of students right now, possibly due to previous members. Harry Potter and the Weasleys, our war heroes."

"Well, as long as I'm not expected to rush off to die in battle," Stevens said with a weak laugh, and Minerva felt a prick of exasperation amidst a wave of depression. This was how it always happened. The candidates realized what had come before them, and felt they couldn't live up to it, and they disappeared faster than a bag of sweets in the student's common room.

"Would you at least be willing to give it a try?" Zacharias asked with impatience. Minerva would have given anything to be able to see the faces of the two men rather than the sort of pale blobs floating above dark blobs she did see.

Stevens was very quiet. Then, "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, I will try."

"Excellent. I will fetch the Sorting Hat, headmistress."

Zacharias left to do just that, and Minerva fixed her failed eyes on the blob that was Stevens, hoping her gaze was steady and not wandering.

"Well, Mr. Stevens, I am prepared to take you on as our Potions master, even if the hat shares your concerns about headship. I can always try leaning on my other candidate a little harder. What do you say?"

"Well," he said, sounding surprised. "I say that's very good news, headmistress. Thank you very much. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

"Here we are," Zacharias said heartily, and Minerva felt her heart squeeze a bit in anticipation. "Just put this on, like so, and—"

"All right, then," Minerva interrupted, tilting her face up to the hat. "I realize he's older than the students, and it would be quite difficult to sort him. I only want to know if you see anything that would bar him from Gryffindor."

The hat made a disgruntled noise and muttered a bit.

"What's that?"

"As I've told you," the hat grated out, "adults are always more difficult than students, but this is impossible. He's horribly conflicted and complex. If I had to make a guess, I'd say this was a Slytherin or maybe a Ravenclaw, but there's enough confusion that you could put him anywhere. I see Gryffindor boldness, sure enough."

"Thank you for lending us your advice," Minerva told the hat gravely, and Zacharias removed the hat back to its resting place to await the beginning of term in two weeks.

Stevens didn't speak.

"Well, Mr. Stevens?"

"Ah," he let out a desperate sound, trying to answer. "I'm sorry, headmistress, but that was a very odd experience."

"Take your time, then."

"I . . . I'm willing, I think. To take all three positions. For this year, anyway, as long as it's possible to review the situation next year when we see the number of students coming in."

"Well, that's settled then," Zacharias said in a hearty and completely false voice.

"Congratulations, Mr. Stevens, or Professor Stevens I should say," he laughed, also falsely. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Stevens shook hands with both of them, thanked them until Minerva nearly wanted to stop up her ears, and finally departed to prepare himself and pack his things. He said he would return next week to settle in and get to know the castle a bit before the students arrived.

Zacharias turned to Minerva as soon as Stevens was out of the room. "I don't trust him, Professor."

"Well, he's understandably a bit reserved. Give him time to get to know the place. He's only been in the country for a few weeks, after all."

"It's not that, Professor. You didn't see his face—beg your pardon, but it's important. When you were asking him about Gryffindor, he looked very queer, and when you suggested the hat, he nearly panicked. I honestly expected him to bolt out of the office while I was fetching it."

Minerva frowned. "It could be that he was only nervous about it, but you're right, we rarely see that much fear in our first years. Well, it's too late to be helped now, Zacharias. Just watch him. After all, what on earth would he want to hurt us for?"

"Indeed," Zacharias mused.

"He's very young, isn't he? To have all those injuries."

"I'll save my sympathy for the day he convinces me he deserves it."

"You're always looking for enemies, aren't you?"

"I'd think you of all people would understand it, Professor. After what Snape and Malfoy did here, one can't be too careful."

Minerva frowned. She would not become paranoid. She refused to allow the past to do that to her. "What worries you?"

"His story. His Muggle employer in New York City confirmed he's worked there for four years, correct?"

"Yes. And beyond that, in the wizarding world, he has no past between his school years and leaving to live as a Muggle. His government asked it of him. I understand, there are times when things must be done that you would prefer not to let the public see—"

"But they can't confirm he worked for them?"

"He was invisible, Zacharias. The whole idea is that he _didn't_ work for anyone."

"But you could have asked them. Everyone knows who you are, Headmistress."

The look she turned on him shut him up for a moment, but Zacharias was really just like a dog with a bone, she thought. He was determined not to trust this Stevens lad.

"Well, then, assuming his story is true, all right? Assuming that . . . how could you think he will be able to teach children? If I had children, I wouldn't let him _near_ them."

Minvera sighed. "I have a feeling."

"A feeling," he said flatly, and Minerva abruptly was angry. He had no right to question her, none at all.

"Yes, a feeling, Zacharias! I had a feeling that Harry Potter could play Quidditch, I had a feeling Severus was going to do something awful, I had a feeling that a young boy barely out of school could help me lead Hogwarts back from ruin, and now I have a _feeling_ that this poor boy who seems to have been bathed in blood will be good with children! It's a feeling, Zacharias, and as the Headmistress of this school, my feeling is that you need to stop questioning me and welcome your new colleague. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "If you'll excuse me, then, I have some things that need to be seen to."

He departed the office, and Minerva tried to calm down. That never would have worked if Zacharias didn't still think of her as his professor, she thought ruefully. Merlin, sometimes she hated her feelings.


	3. Chapter 2: Ghosts of Gryffindor House

Chapter Two

The Ghosts of Gryffindor House

"Can you get a day off work this week?" Harry asked his wife, who was cleaning up the dinner dishes while Harry swept the kitchen floor. "I want us both to take Matt to Diagon Alley for his school supplies."

"Sure, I think so. I've got that case to argue this week, you know, that underage magic situation, but I should be done by Wednesday. We could go Thursday or Friday."

"What's your case, again?"

"Muggleborn boy, twelve years old, never manifested magic before. The neighbor's dog jumped on him, and he took off its legs. In front of his mother and the neighbor. They had to put the legs back on the dog and Obliviate the neighbor. It's an easy case, I just have to explain that he didn't even know he was a wizard. I've spoken to McGonagall, and she's spoken to his mother. He'll be starting at Hogwarts this year."

Harry put the broom away, and picked up Matt's Hogwarts letter. "I wonder if they'll be friends?"

Ginny dried her hands, and slipped an arm behind him to rub his back. "Don't worry so much, babe. Matt will be fine."

"He's a good kid, and he's going to be a decent wizard. I just worry that he won't make friends, that they'll set him apart just because he's ours." He groaned. "That feels good, move up a little."

Ginny guided him over to a chair and sat him down, kneading his shoulders with both hands. "I worry about him, too. He's so quiet. But really, he'll be fine."

"I hope so."

"You could have been there with him," Ginny said quietly. "You could be teaching there, and—"

"Ginny. We've already talked about this. We have a family and a home here. Your work is here in the city. And I'm still needed at my job."

Ginny sighed. "It's been five years, Harry. Nobody's seen Malfoy since . . . since Neville. Why don't you let it go? Why won't the Aurors just leave off and find something else to do?"

"It's not all of us," Harry answered quietly. "Just me. I'm the only one trying to find him. As to why . . . I don't know, Sunshine. I think it's just pity."

"Pity?" she repeated, and squeezed too hard, making him wince. "For Malfoy? You?"

"Yes, me," he sighed, relaxing again as she resumed a less painful rhythm. "It's been ten years since we were rivals at school, you know. A lot of that has faded away. And yes, I suppose it's pity. When I think of what the war did to him . . ."

"What about what the war did to us?" she asked angrily.

"I know what it did to us. But I also know what it's like to want to make your father proud. What it's like to need to protect your family. That's what Malfoy wanted, when he was a teenager. And then when we won, and his family was killed, he lost everything. Everything, Ginny. The war's over, and he has nothing. He didn't even attack Neville, Neville sought him out, and I don't think I can blame him entirely for that. He's friendless, leaderless, homeless, drifting. Wherever he is, he's alone."

"I guess . . . I never wanted to think about what would happen to the other side."

"I don't want to hurt him, Ginny. I don't even want to see him in jail anymore. He hasn't done anything for years, now. Honestly, I think I just want to give him an opportunity to get out of hiding and start over. The rest of us got to move on and make lives for ourselves. If I find him, and I can prove he hasn't been up to anything recently, I could probably get the Ministry to allow him to just quietly leave the country."

Ginny had stopped massaging, and just stood with her hands on his neck. "It's hard to think about," she began slowly, and he recognized the signs that she was going to think through something aloud to him.

Then the patter of bare feet interrupted them, and they looked over to see their son standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Sirius, what are you doing out of bed?" Ginny admonished the four-year-old.

He scrubbed a small fist against his eye, pushing away a lock of dark hair. "Matt's having a bad dream. He's making noises."

Harry stood up. "I'll deal with it," he said to Ginny, who was picking up Sirius. "You go back to sleep, Daddy will take care of Matt," he addressed the toddler, ruffling his hair and making it even more unruly than it already was. As always, the sight of his son, looking so like himself and his own father, lightened something in his heart.

When he came into Matt's room, he saw that his older son was already awake, with the dampness of sweat and tears on his face. When he saw Harry, he buried his face in his pillow.

"Did I wake up Crash again?"

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and laid his hand on Matt's back, trying not to laugh at Matt's nickname for his little brother. "It's okay, Mum's putting him back to bed."

"I'm sorry."

"You know Sirius isn't mad at you. He just gets upset when you're crying."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Harry rubbed Matt's back and closed his eyes against the wash of pain he felt for his adopted son. "There's nothing to be sorry about. You can't help having nightmares. You've seen some really ugly things, and nobody blames you for still grieving over what happened."

Matt wriggled a bit and pulled himself into Harry's lap, pressing his face against Harry's chest. "Dad, will you stay here for a few minutes?"

"Of course."

He put his arms around Matt and felt grateful that he was here. That someone could be here with Matt when he had nightmares, when he cried for his parents. Harry was happy to provide what he himself had so badly needed as a child. He and Ginny hadn't regretted taking Matt in, and they'd officially adopted him three years ago. He stayed until Matt fell asleep again, then went to join Ginny in bed.

She wasn't sleeping, though, she was sitting with Charlotte in the rocking chair. Charlotte was awake but calm—at least until Harry came in. When she saw her father, she stirred and tried to get away from Ginny. Ginny smiled wearily and held the baby out to him.

"Come to Daddy," he said, feeling a goofy grin on his face that he couldn't help at the sight of her ridiculous pouf of red hair waving about as she wriggled in her mother's arms. "Hi, Charley," he crooned, cuddling her into his chest.

"Da!" she exclaimed. "Hi, Da!"

He still wasn't sure when she said that whether she was greeting him or requesting that he toss her up into the air and catch her (that was, "High, Da!") but it was late, so he settled for assuming it was a greeting. She was far too precocious and energetic for a one-year-old. He kissed her cheeks and she subsided, laying still enough that he could hope she'd go back to sleep.

Ginny offered the rocking chair, but he just paced slowly around the room, bending his head once in a while to drop a kiss on Charlotte's head.

"Matt's okay," he said after a minute. "Did Sirius get back to sleep?"

Ginny nodded, and slid into bed. "Yeah, he's fine. He's got such a tender heart, though. He hates to think of Matt being afraid. And," she made a face, "he bumped into his door in the dark. I swear, Harry, that boy is going to kill himself."

"He's a klutz, that's all. Don't worry." He put his sleeping daughter up on his shoulder. "I'll be right back," he said, going into the next room and laying Charlotte back in her crib. He paused to kiss her once more and whisper, "Goodnight, Charley," before he strode back into his bedroom and threw himself on top of Ginny. "I love our kids," he said firmly, his eyes bright. "Thank you for my kids."

Ginny smiled tremulously in answer.

"I love you," he said, and gave her a kiss as gentle and careful as those he'd given his sleeping daughter. "I love you," he said again feverishly, and his kiss was suddenly a great deal more powerful. Ginny decided she wasn't all _that _tired.

---Break---

Drew looked around the Gryffindor common room to be sure it was ready for the students who would be arriving tomorrow. He was supposed to meet the prefects for his house and the school's Head Boy and Girl, both Hufflepuffs, during the feast tomorrow night. The rest of the students, he would get to know in their lessons. He'd spent the last two weeks going through old textbooks and a great deal of the books in the library and quickly putting together lesson plans based on what he remembered of his own classes in school and what knowledge he'd gained since then. He was uncomfortable in this room, with its red-and-gold and its quiet condemnation of him. He didn't belong here. He knew he didn't. This wasn't his place, this room, this house, and he shivered abruptly at the silent disapproval it seemed to hold for him. He thought about the war heroes who'd lived and laughed in these rooms, and it was like they were still there, asking him what he thought he was doing.

The silence was absolute throughout the school, and he couldn't wait for the students to arrive and lessons to begin and the general hubbub of many people all in one place. He'd gotten used to being alone, but he was tired of this silence. He wanted some life around him again. New York was exciting and lively, but at the end of the day, his studio apartment held just him and his memories. They weren't good memories. They were memories of battle and bloodshed and pain and torture—things he was more than ready to put behind him. This school was altogether stuffy, but it had some order and above all, some peace.

Drew retreated to his own room, limping along and cursing that he couldn't move faster. He was twenty-five years old, and should be in his prime. He was strong and slender, but his lame leg made him slow and ungainly, unless he was in the air. On a broomstick, he could still be quick, still feel like a young man. He would have no trouble instilling a love for flying in the first-years. He sat down in a chair in front of the fire in his room, his stiff leg poking straight out in that awkward way he hated. They was a bottle of potion for the pain sitting on the table beside it, and a house elf had come by to build up the fire for the night. He downed the potion and tried to relax. He was safe here. The reference he'd cultivated in New York City had come through for him and convinced McGonagall that he was a trustworthy, hardworking fellow. He had a place at this school, for as long as he wanted it.

And he did want it, he found. It wasn't just the only place he could think of to come, he really wanted to be here. He wanted to be a teacher. He wanted to do something useful. What the hat had spoken to him, privately in his mind, had shocked him so badly that he'd almost given everything away. But he'd pondered it more and more, and he'd come to realize that the man he was now had little to no resemblance to the boy he had been. It had mentioned Slytherin, yes, but also Ravenclaw, with the boldness of a Gryffindor. Drew didn't feel bold. He felt old. Old and tired. But above all, changed. Change was what the hat had spoke of to him, and him only. And maybe, just maybe, there wasn't anything wrong with change.

He took off his eyepatch and rubbed his fingers at the red mark the band left in his skin. He grimaced at the lumpy feeling of the bones in his face. Merlin, he was ugly. Of all the differences between boy and man, this was the one he couldn't get used to. He was ugly. He closed his eye, and the battle was right there. The memory of what he'd done, what had been done to him.

They'd come there to fight. An abandoned warehouse. The round-faced boy and the boy with the pale, pointed face, both of them barely becoming men despite both having achieved recognized adulthood. He'd been so confident that he would win. The other boy was no match for him. Clumsiness and incompetence against skill and power. Indeed, he'd disarmed his opponent in a matter of moments. But he hadn't counted on the strength of the other's Shield Charm. It was impenetrable. And the boy . . . so determined, so brave, and so doomed. He wouldn't give up. His friends were counting on him, and he just wouldn't give up. It was shocking enough to leave the more skilled man frozen and watching as his opponent muttered that he wouldn't lose like this. Wandless and bleeding, his opponent had picked up a metal pipe from the dirty ground and knocked his leg out from under him when he was turning to go, to let the boy live. While he screamed, feeling his knee shatter into a million pieces, the pipe had come down on his face, even as he'd thrown out a vicious _Avada Kedavra_ with the force of all his fear behind it.

Neville Longbottom had stolen the grace, the confidence, and the arrogance from Draco Malfoy in the moments before he'd died.

Killing Neville had allowed him to live, and had also ensured that no one would know what he'd done to Draco. He'd dragged himself into a Muggle hospital and lain there for weeks, enduring facial reconstruction and traction. Physical therapy. A fused joint and a leg brace and a cane. Nightmares and screaming. Pain. He'd emerged from the hospital as Drew Stevens and fled the country. He was done, he'd decided. Finished with life as who he'd been and wanting only to be Drew Stevens. But Drew Stevens, he'd found out, was no one. Drew Stevens had few friends, no followers, and no need for revenge. He had no goals or plans. Nothing to fill his days. Drew had tried the New York City nightlife, but it wasn't enough, it only brought to him more keenly that every ounce of pride he'd had was now unjustifiable. He'd met a sexy English girl who'd told him to look her up if ever he was in London, and so he had. He'd stayed with her for two days before seeking out his own kind and hearing of the job at Hogwarts. He'd seen it for what it was. The only opportunity he had to come to a place that was as close to a home as he would ever find.

So he'd come back.


	4. Chapter 3: Such Small Stones

Chapter Three

Such Small Stones

Drew Stevens felt shaky and nervous, sitting in front of the entire school at the staff table, waiting for the welcoming feast to begin. He'd only just hurried in, he'd been in the front hall meeting the prefects for his house, Lark Lewis and Albert Branson—he reminded himself that the boy had requested to be called "Bran," as he wasn't fond of Albert—and the two Hufflepuff students who were Head Boy and Girl this year, Nancy Booth and Chester Michaels. He hadn't realized it was so close to starting until Hagrid—the man was _still_ here—tramped in with the first years, booming at them to hurry along.

The first years were now queuing up and waiting for Zacharias Smith to call out their names. Drew looked at both Zacharias and Hagrid with nothing more than a bland expression. He was well-used to hiding his feelings, and he honestly wasn't sure he felt anything about them anymore. He was finding he actually admired how much Smith took upon himself and found himself respecting the control McGonagall still maintained. Merlin, but he was getting old or something. How did he dare to be a Malfoy yet feel so little animosity toward them? It was only that he wasn't a Malfoy, anymore. He'd left that name behind him with his sins.

He fixed his gaze on the children, and was stunned. They were so _tiny_. He had never, never been that small and uncertain. Hagrid could sit on any of them and they'd be smothered. And _these_ were the keys to rebuilding Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? The building blocks of the age after war? They couldn't possibly live up to their promise. They were just too _cute_. And they were standing there with wide eyes and sweaty palms, and for Merlin's sake, Drew found himself wanting to protect them. It was a radical idea. It had been one thing to go after people, to kill people, so that he could draw out Potter and the Weasleys, and the fact that some of them had children had made him pause but not back down. Now, he wished he'd paused a little longer. He didn't think he'd actually seen a child up close since he'd left Hogwarts ten years ago. Did they all look like this? Would they each have been able to stop his foolish actions if he'd been able to see their innocence? One boy in particular caught his eye. He had shaggy, sandy brown hair, and eyes of the most piercing blue. He was rail-thin and appeared very shy, as though he were afraid of the other children. But he wasn't hiding or turning for help. He just stood and let it all wash over him, shoulders straight and head high—high enough that everyone could see the lurid scar splashed across his jaw and neck. Drew liked him, liked his quiet dignity. The boy talked to Hagrid for a moment before Hagrid joined the staff at the high table. Drew didn't feel disgusted by the big man anymore. Hagrid had fought on the side he'd chosen, just as everyone had, and now that it was over, he had his place in the world. Hagrid at Hogwarts was the way things should be.

Booth, Robin was the first to be sorted, and the boy headed for the Hufflepuff table while they cheered, his sister the Head Girl loudest. Immediately following that, Drew was clapping to welcome Bell, Davis into Gryffindor House, _his _house, and then Burns, Paulette. He was slightly disgusted that Gryffindor picked up that one, a tiny and pathetically pale creature who'd sucked in a deep breath on an asthma inhaler when Smith put the Sorting Hat on her. He didn't pay a lot of attention to all the little foundation stones of the future, but he focused on each of the students entering his house. Felicity Forsythe joined two older siblings at the Ravenclaw table, but her twin brother Ferris ran to the Gryffindor table beaming happily. A black boy named Trevor Jordan joined Gryffindor, two more Hufflepuff children, then _finally_ a new Slytherin, a sneering little boy named Bradley Laddon. Drew took care not to clap too hard for the boy. A few more Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, then the name that stopped Drew cold.

"Potter, Matthias."

And the sandy-haired boy stepped forward.

Drew frowned. This child was Potter's? He didn't look anything like him, nor anything like a Weasley. Was it possible that it was simply a coincidental last name? No, it was obviously not. Several of the students were jumping to attention and Hagrid was looking particularly expectant. This was the child of the savior of the wizarding world, the nephew of the great Weasley war heroes. Drew kept his face straight and sat perfectly still.

The Sorting Hat took a few moments. It opened the rip in its brim and all the Ravenclaws sat forward with anticipation.

"Gryffindor!" the hat called out.

The skinny Potter boy dashed to the Gryffindor table with a small, private smile on his face, accepting congratulations and pats on the back with a few nods. Drew tried to breathe. How was he going to do this? He'd decided to live quietly, to teach these children, but how _could_ he act objectively to the Potter boy in the house he'd somehow become Head over through no fault of his own? The world, he thought miserably, was horribly unfair. He'd stay until McGonagall could find someone else, then he was gone. He wouldn't even stay through Christmas. He could not be a responsible adult with a Potter. He just couldn't. He didn't relish trying to explain himself. Maybe he'd just stab himself to death with the butter knife.

He watched another set of twins, Lillith and Fagan Ward, join Slytherin's ranks, along with a boy called Gilbert Wraven whose brother tried to congratulate him and whom he ducked away from with a scowl. But that was Draco Malfoy's house, and he wasn't Draco. Drew's house gained two more members, an alarmingly tough-looking girl that he would almost describe as burly with the impossible name of Berengaria Talbott, and a thick-set, grinning lad named Kerry Wood who proclaimed himself the son of Oliver Wood, of the Puddlemere United Quidditch team. How was it that any of them were old enough to have children attending this school? He counted the time in his head and reasoned that for Potter and Weasley to have a child at Hogwarts, Potter must have gotten his girlfriend pregnant when they were still in their fourth year. That seemed both impossible and somehow delightfully ironic, with Potter's sainthood a near-given at this point. In fact, her entire family would have had to know about it. How kinky.

McGonagall gave a short speech to begin the feast, just as old Dumbledore always had, but Drew didn't hear a word of it. He was too busy thinking. How had he gotten himself into this mess? He couldn't think of a way out of it without revealing his past identity, not when he'd have to get past the sharp-eyed Zacharias Smith. And then where would he be? At the end of Harry Potter's wand facing up to his crimes or rotting away in the reorganized Azkaban. No, thank you. He was going to have to at least make an effort. He'd run out of choices long ago.

---Break---

Drew settled into bed with a deep sigh. Lark and Bran had gotten the first years into the Gryffindor Tower and they'd all shuffled off to sleep, while Drew stayed up getting himself prepared for classes to start tomorrow. He was scared, he realized, actually scared of failing at this. He wanted to be a good teacher. He wanted to stay here. Because there wasn't any other place for him.

He'd worked a spell to warn him if any of the students were out of bed , and it went off just as he was closing his eye to sleep.

"Damn," he muttered. "I don't want to have to discipline them on the first night." He strode to the common room, yanking his robe shut and grumbling about respect and responsibility.

He stopped and stared, nonplused. Davis Bell and a boy he didn't know, therefore an older student, were flanking the little Potter boy, who was sitting in front of the fireplace with his knees drawn up, ignoring them.

"You'll get in trouble for being out of bed," the older boy was saying.

"Leave him alone, he's had a nightmare," Bell replied. "Woke the lot of us up."

"You first years," the boy said in disgust.

"You're only a second year yourself," Bell answered, just as disgusted. He tugged on Potter's arm. "Come on, Matt, he's right. We'll get in trouble." Potter didn't answer, just stared into the embers of the fire. Drew could see that he was shivering.

He cleared his throat. "Whatever you're doing out of your beds, return to them. Immediately."

They all turned and saw him. Bell scrambled to obey, but the other boy remained, trying to get Potter to stand up. He let Potter go, looking puzzled.

"The other boy said he had a nightmare, sir," he said by way of apology. He shrugged. "He's acting pretty odd."

"I'll handle it, thank you, Mr.—"

"Edwards. I'm Randolph Edwards. Everyone calls me Ran."

"I see. Ran Edwards, go to bed."

"Yes, sir. Sir?"

"What?"

"What . . . what happened to your eye?"

"Fought a werewolf," he said brusquely. It was a decent enough lie, he'd realized after he'd told it to McGonagall. Most people wouldn't like to inquire too closely into it. It got Potter's attention, but didn't have the desired effect of rousing him enough to go back to bed. Instead, Edwards became intolerably interested.

"Did he . . . are you a werewolf?"

"I am not," he said firmly, stepping forward to haul Potter back to bed himself if he had to.

"I am," Edwards said boldly. That stopped Drew in his tracks. "Everybody knows, but I didn't know if the Headmistress told you there was a werewolf in your house. It's okay, because I take the Wolfsbane potion and stay in an empty greenhouse during the full moon, so I'm not a danger to anybody." Seeing that he had an interested audience who were not recoiling in fear, he continued, matter-of-factly. "Fenrir Greyback got me when I was still in diapers. They say I might have been his last victim before Remus and Nymphadora Lupin killed him."

"You were," Potter said, sounding calm. "Aunt Tonks told me about it. Uncle Remy doesn't talk about that stuff, though."

"You know them?" Edwards asked, surprised. "Oh, of course you do. You're Matthias Potter." His lips clamped together, then he said in a weak voice, "Remy?" before he started to laugh.

Drew had thought it was hard to contain his panic at being given a Potter to take care of. It was nothing compared to the struggle to keep his mouth shut and his face bland when he heard Remus Lupin called "Uncle Remy." But he was tired, and they all had full days ahead of them tomorrow.

"Boys," he interrupted, proud that his voice was only slightly strained. "As much as I'd like to let you discuss lycanthropy in the family, you're out of bed when you're supposed to be in it. I suggest you remedy that before I start the term with my house in negative points."

Edwards hurried off to bed, but Potter hesitated. "Professor Stevens?"

"What?"

"Can I please sit out here, just for a minute?"

"Why?" he blurted out, surprised.

Potter looked extraordinarily embarrassed. "I get really bad dreams, and I don't want to go back to sleep yet."

Drew could sympathize, having experienced similar problems over the years. It was a painful thing, to fear something as healthy as sleep. Potter looked exhausted, but was clearly unwilling to leave the negligible warmth and solitude of the fireplace. He tried to think. What was a good way to help a child in this situation? And why in hell did he _want_ to help this child? He could not actually be feeling compassion for a Potter, not when he didn't even feel compassion.

He slowly sank down to sit beside Potter, groaning minutely as he tried to use his cane to avoid falling. "Why don't you tell me about it?" he suggested.

Potter didn't look pleased, but complied. "I'm not their real son," he started, "not really a Potter. I'm adopted. My parents got killed. That's what I have nightmares about."

Drew was unsure whether he should say something at this point. "I'm sorry to hear that." Well. That explained the age problem.

"It was really awful. My father was an Auror, and they only came to our house to get Dad—Harry Potter—out in the open. I remember was the screams and the explosions," here his hand crept up to cover the ugly scar on his neck, "and getting burned. Dad and Aunt Tonks were both trying to get me out, but one of the explosions knocked us over and I fell right on my mother's body." He shuddered and closed his eyes. "I saw the man who did it. Dad said his name is Draco Malfoy, and he's an old Death Eater. Dad's still looking for him."

Drew Stevens wasn't breathing. He was sure he wasn't breathing, and that he was going to black out. Shit, shit, and triple shit, as an acquaintance in New York so charmingly put it.

"But I'm all right, sir, really," Potter added, looking anxious to alleviate his professor's concern. "It's just nightmares." He scrubbed a few tears off his cheek with the heel of his hand. "I'll go back to bed now, sorry to disturb you."

Make that quadruple shit.


	5. Chapter 4: The Way We Are

Chapter Four

The Way We Are

Drew was finding it difficult to eat anything. His stomach had been churning as though it were a cement mixing truck all day. He pushed food around his plate, feeling like a kid himself for doing it, and stared at Matthias Potter.

He'd had the boy in class today, the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw class, and the boy had proved himself a bit brighter at Potions than his adoptive father. He'd had every Gryffindor scooting over to make room for him, anxious to be his friend, and the boy had walked over to the Ravenclaws and seated himself like nothing was wrong with that. Drew realized that the boy didn't like the fame that came with the Potter name. That was something. Being good at Potions was something, too. He could like the boy, he thought, just as he'd been thinking during the sorting.

But it did nothing to settle his stomach.

He'd killed this boy's parents. He'd nearly killed the boy. Five years ago, it wouldn't have meant anything to him. Or maybe it would have, if he'd paused long enough to let it. Maybe that was his problem. Not that he'd suddenly developed a conscience overnight, but that he'd always had one and it had chosen to poke its ugly head up in the aftermath of killing Longbottom, when he'd finally had time to think about it. It was amazing, how badly he wished Longbottom hadn't made him do that. And how badly he wished he hadn't done what he'd done to Matt Potter's family.

Last night, it had been all he could do to reassure the boy that it was no problem, he could talk about his nightmares if he needed to, and stumble back to his rooms before he'd retched up everything he'd eaten in three days. Which wasn't much, honestly. He'd been too nervous to eat much. He looked down at his plate. And now he was too upset.

Smith was looking at him suspiciously, Drew realized. He forced a small smile onto his face and took a bite of . . . something. Ham. He could barely taste it, and swallowing it was work.

"Long day," he grunted.

Smith nodded with a bit more sympathy. "You'll get used to it. Took me my whole first year of teaching to settle into being a professor at the school I'd just graduated from. Bit of a shock to look at the children and realize you're the adult now, isn't it?"

_Hell of a shock, actually_, Drew thought, then said it aloud. It would be good for Smith to be thinking of him as a blunt American. He'd caught himself sounding far too much like a cultured British pureblood several times in the past two weeks. It was just being back here, he thought. He hadn't had a lot of trouble passing himself off as an American Muggle once he'd gotten the accent right. The hardest part had been to stop even thinking about Muggles, Mudbloods, and purebloods, and he'd managed to let that go while he was in the hospital five years ago. It was the memories that were making him slip in his disguise.

He smiled to himself as he realized what he needed to do. He was tired and needed to prepare for his classes tomorrow, but at the moment, he'd really rather go to Hogsmeade for an hour or two. He stood up and gripped his cane tightly as a lightning bolt of pain rushed down his leg. He'd get used to the damp soon, he assured himself. He'd just take a potion for the pain before he slept. With a pang, he knew he was addicted to the stuff, but there really wasn't anything else for it, was there? Besides, he was looking forward to his time in Hogsmeade too much to worry about that.

---Break---

Matt was a little worn after his first day of classes and knew he should go to bed, but he was much more interested in sitting around the common room and laughing at the antics of a fourth-year, one Madeleine Smithy who was happily changing the colour of her hair and her eyes upon request. She paused at one particularly lurid combination of green hair and bright purple eyes and turned to her best friend Lana.

"You know, I think I'll leave it like this."

Lana laughed, but it was her older sister Lark, the prefect, who spoke up. "Your mother would have a fit, Madeleine."

"All the more reason to do it, then," the girl said dismissively.

"You look disgusting, Maddy," Lana giggled, and watched her friend return to her normal combination of brown and brown.

Madeleine's eyes lit on Matt. "Your parents have a friend who's a Metamorphagus like me, don't they?"

Matt nodded, feeling his cheeks burn at being singled out. "My aunt."

"What colour is her hair?"

Matt shrugged. "It's usually normal, since she got married. Uncle Remus says it makes him feel like he married one of those Muggle kids who go around with their clothes torn up and too much makeup on." Madeleine's face fell. "But she always changes her nose for me and Sirius when they come over," he added hastily. "The last time she did her hair, it was blue."

Madeleine concentrated, and her hair came out a rich cobalt blue colour.

"Ooo, I like it, Maddy," Lana said eagerly. "It's pretty."

With a shrug, Madeleine stopped changing herself and left it blue. She'd had her fun entertaining the kids, it seemed, and she retreated into a corner with Lana and their friend Pierce. Those three were the Chasers for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Kerry had told Matt earlier. Matt looked over at Kerry, who was entertaining Davis and Trevor with stories of stuff his dad had done in Quidditch matches. His fellow first years were all so loud and fun-loving, he thought. Maybe Matt should have been in Ravenclaw. He looked over at Ferris Forsythe, who really _should_ have been a Ravenclaw, the rest of his family was, but he seemed perfectly content to talk about their first day of classes with Paulette Burns—who was adamant about being called Letty—and Berengaria Talbott. Those two girls were both so odd, he thought. Berengaria was a big, tough girl with a very serious side, and she seemed perfectly content with being a girl and wearing skirts and everything. And Letty was a tiny, frail little wisp of a girl who wanted nothing more than to exchange crude jokes and roughhouse with the boys. That was something Matt didn't think was ever going to make sense.

Ran Edwards approached him. "Mind if I sit here?"

Matt shook his head and smiled as Ran sat beside him on the floor in front of the fire. He'd noticed that everybody had been avoiding Ran, and he wondered why. Then a thought struck him, and he asked before he could stop himself.

"Have you ever hurt anybody when you were transformed?"

Ran's smile fell, but he didn't react. "No."

Matt frowned at that. "Sorry, I just thought . . . well, everybody kind of stays away from you. I thought maybe it was because you did something."

Ran sighed. "I haven't. They just think I will."

"Why would they think that?" Matt asked in puzzlement.

"Because they're bloody ignorant!" Ran growled. "They just don't know anything about werewolves. They all think I'll start tearing their throats out any time, now."

Matt shook his head. "That's just stupid. It's not even the full moon. Besides, even when you transform, you can take precautions, can't you? They're stupid." He turned around to glare at the room, and realized that it was rapidly emptying out. Lark and Bran and another fifth year named Richie were the only ones who looked like they were staying. Berengaria and Letty were saying goodnight to Ferris before they split up for their dormitories. He turned back to Ran.

Ran looked only into the fire, but Matt could suddenly sense a certain tension in him without being able to see it in his face or eyes. "It doesn't bother you, then? That I'm a werewolf?"

Matt was frustrated. "My _uncle_ is a werewolf," he said. "He'd never hurt me. Why would it bother me? Uncle Remy always says it doesn't hold you back unless you allow it to. He came to school here, you know."

Ran was looking at him now, much more happily. "Yeah," he said, his voice strong. "Yeah, he's right." He raised his arms and stretched, and the tiny whining noise in his throat sounded just like Uncle Remy when he did that. "I'm going to bed now. You'd better get some sleep, too, you don't want Professor Stevens coming in here again."

Matt shrugged. "He was really nice. He just sat with me for a few minutes and let me talk about it. I felt bad for him, too. It's hard for him to get up and down."

"I like him," Ran declared.

"Me, too, I guess."

"Well, anyway, get some sleep, you look tired," Ran commanded, pushing him over with his foot, grinning.

Before Matt could even laugh, much less get up, Berengaria Talbott was there pushing Ran away and standing in front of Matt.

"Don't touch him, werewolf," she hissed.

Matt scowled, and grabbed her shoulder angrily. "Leave him alone! He didn't do anything!"

"I saw him kick you," she countered. "Don't worry, I know about werewolves."

"You don't know _anything_ about werewolves," Matt corrected her, shoving her aside and grabbing Ran's arm. "Come on, Ran, let's go to bed and leave the ignorant kids to their misconceptions."

The big girl was staring at them. "Wait."

They paused, and Matt could feel Ran's muscles straining under his arm.

"You really weren't going to hurt him?"

"No," Ran muttered. "Why would I?"

She shrugged. "Sorry. I just don't like bullies." She eyed Matt as if to make sure he was intact, then held out her hand. "No hard feelings, then."

Ran looked at her outstretched hand incredulously. "Except your problem with werewolves," he said in disgust.

"But I don't. Have a problem. I just thought you were kicking him, so I was going to make you leave him alone. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Why are you so concerned about me?" Matt broke in.

She looked down, uncomfortable. "Well, my parents always say that since I'm . . . since I'm so big and everything, that I should use it to help other people. I always make sure bullies can't pick on people at school."

Strangely, Ran was smiling. "Me, too," he said, and held out his hand.

Berengaria gaped at him for a second, then shook his hand firmly. "Thanks."

"Well, goodnight," he said.

"Yeah, goodnight," Matt parroted.

"See ya's," she replied, and they turned away for their respective beds.


	6. Letter 1

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Thanks for sending my socks. I guess I forgot to put them in my trunk. Anyway, I'm in Gryffindor, if you didn't already find out. Funny, huh? I thought I might be in Ravenclaw, that's what Aunt Hermione said. I met a boy from Ravenclaw that I really like, his name is Basil, and we did our homework in the library together today with that boy Milton that Mum helped with underage magic. So you don't have to worry if I'm making friends._

_There's some kids in Gryffindor that you might be interested in, too. Oliver Wood's son Kerry just started this year, and Davis Bell says his cousin knew you when you were in school. And Trevor Jordan, he says his uncle Lee was friends with my uncles. My favorite people in Gryffindor so far are a girl in my year named Berengaria, and a second-year boy named Ran. Ran's got lycanthropy, and he doesn't mind if everyone knows. He says it's probably because of Uncle Remus that he even gets to come to school here. He really likes Uncle Remy and Aunt Tonks, because he got bit by Fenrir Greyback. I think it would be cool if Uncle Remy could write a letter to him or something, because I think Ran's lonely. A lot of the kids are afraid of him, even though he wouldn't hurt anybody. I thought Berengaria was going to be like that, but she and Ran sorted it out yesterday, so that's all right._

_We have two new professors this year that you won't know. Professor Kilburne only finished school a couple of years ago and he teaches Ancient Runes now, plus he's Head of Slytherin. I know you don't like Slytherin, but there's some nice people there now. Professor Kilburne has a brother in Slytherin who's a seventh-year. Our prefect, Lark, she's dating a Slytherin. Anyway, the new Potions teacher took Uncle Charlie's place here, he's Head of Gryffindor and he's teaching our first flying lesson tomorrow. He's an American, and I think he's interesting. He got attacked by a werewolf in Canada, he says he went there to help just like Aunt Hermione and Uncle Remy and Aunt Tonks did. He didn't get bitten, but the werewolf almost killed him. He has an eyepatch because it tore his eye out, and his face is sort of lopsided, plus he has to walk with a cane because his leg got hurt. Hagrid says Professor Stevens reminds him of Auror Moody, the one who died in the war. I heard Professor Milles and Thumbley say how sad it is because he's not very old and he has to go around like that forever. Anyway, he's nice, he let me talk to him about my nightmares (yes, I had one, and don't worry about it Mum, I'm fine) and he was really sad that my parents got killed._

_I'd better go to bed now, I want to be rested for my flying lesson. I still don't think I should even go, you already taught me how to fly, but I don't want to fall asleep on my broom and look stupid in front of everybody. I love you, Mum. Love you, Dad._

_Your son,_

_Matt_


	7. Chapter 5: Bear On A Broom

Chapter Five

Bear on a Broom

Matt took his place beside the broom laid out on the ground, watching as all the other first years did the same. He knew how to fly really well. Dad loved to fly and Matt liked to see Dad happy, so he let Dad teach him all kinds of stuff. Mum and Uncle Charlie, too. But Matt was determined that just because his last name was Potter didn't mean he ought to be showing up everybody. Besides, there were bound to be better flyers than him in this group. He'd learned it, he didn't have it in his blood the way Dad did. Kerry would probably fly way better than Matt. The Slytherin twins, the Wards, they looked pretty comfortable, too. And Davis was bound to be good, his cousin had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team practically the entire time she was in school. He tried to stop himself from getting so worked up. He didn't have anything to be nervous about. It was just a flying lesson.

_You just want to make Dad proud of you_, he thought to himself. And he did. Harry Potter had seen fit to adopt him, and he had to live up to that. Everybody knew that Harry Potter was a prodigy on a broom, so Matt had to be one, too. Except that he didn't really, because Dad had said so. He said that people would be watching Matt here, and he just had to keep his chin up and remember that his family only expected him to be himself. It wasn't like they wouldn't love him or something. Crash might even be happy if Matt made a fool out of himself. He was jealous because they wouldn't even let him have a toy broom. He'd hurt himself. Matt found himself smiling as he thought of his clumsy little brother, and jerked his head up when Berengaria elbowed him. Professor Stevens was limping stiffly forward to begin the lesson.

They'd grouped all the first years together for this, even though they divided them up for most of their classes. Matt noticed that some of the Hufflepuffs and the Slytherins weren't paying attention. One little Hufflepuff boy named Alistair that everyone was always rolling their eyes at was insisting to his housemates that he didn't like taking classes from an American, it was practically like having a Muggle for a professor. Bradley Laddon, the most disagreeable boy Matt had ever seen, was making fun of Professor Stevens' looks to the Ward twins while the other Slytherin Gilbert Wraven ignored them in disgust. Berengaria elbowed him again, and rolled her eyes at the disruptive bunch. Matt nodded, and looked at Professor Stevens, who was talking but obviously getting upset. Suddenly, he asked Kerry to grab a rock off the ground. Startled, Kerry did, while the stupid ones shut up and stared at their professor, who seemed to have gone mad.

Professor Stevens gripped a broom in one hand and a wand in the other. "Throw it as high and as far as you can," he ordered Kerry. Still confused, Kerry did so, and their instructor flicked his wand to send the rock still higher and farther. Then he dropped the wand, jumped on the broom, and streaked toward the falling rock like a flash of lightning. He caught it with his hand brushing the ground and pulled up sharply, in perfect control. He zoomed back to the students, put the broom down, and put his wand back in his pocket.

"Now, then," he said, sounding pleasant but fooling no one. "Is everyone convinced I know what I'm talking about? Or shall I demonstrate again?"

"Well, done, Professor," Kerry said, sounding impressed.

He was ignored. "Back to our lesson."

Soon he had them all hovering carefully just above the ground, though he had his eye on Kerry and Matt especially, Matt thought. Matt had heard about Dad's first flying lesson, but there were no Neville Longbottom's in this group, and while he had his doubts about Bradley Laddon, at least the boy hadn't decided to force Matt into any stupid displays like Draco Malfoy had done to Dad. Professor Stevens soon had them flying a nice, short distance forward, then following a gentle curve.

Alistair Crowley fell off his broom, and Matt exchanged a grin with Basil Townsend, his friend from Ravenclaw. Neither of them liked the snotty little Hufflepuff, he'd interrupted them when they were studying in the library with Milton Little to tell them their study methods were faulty and they'd never get anything done that way. He suggested colour-coded notes. Milton had called him a nancy boy and suggested he shove off to play with his dolls while Basil and Matt tried to feel bad about the name-calling and failed miserably. When Professor Stevens asked Alistair what happened and the boy explained he'd been distracted by a butterfly, the three of them almost lost it. They had to look away from each other and pretend to concentrate very hard on what they were doing before the professor noticed. With nothing more than a brusque reprimand about paying attention, Alistair was back on his broom and the lesson continued.

When Kerry complained about being bored, Matt had to agree, but he did so silently. Some of the students had obviously never been on brooms, and they really needed the lesson. Berengaria said she'd never flown, but she seemed to be picking it up really fast. Milton was completely focused on what he was doing, the way he focused on everything magical. It had come as quite a shock to him to find out he was a wizard, and a shock for everyone else, too, since it came a year late. Matt heard about it because Mum was getting him out of trouble for Vanishing a dog's legs. He was practically a Squib, magically, but he was pretty smart and very patient. Disappointingly, Alistair seemed to be getting the hang of it. Letty was loudly agreeing with Kerry that she wanted to do something more dangerous, even though she was still plenty wobbly.

Then an older boy, a Gryffindor boy with thick shoulders and blond hair whose name Matt couldn't remember, came striding across the field. "You ready for me, Professor Stevens?"

"Ah, Roman, you're here. Yes, I think so. I'll continue to work with most of the class, and you can put the more experienced students through a few exercises."

Oh, yes, Matt thought, it was Roman Vestrit. He was the Seeker and the team captain. Apparently, he was helping with the lessons. Matt suddenly remembered what he'd overhead Madeleine, Lana, and Pierce talking about—their team needed new Beaters and a new Keeper. He'd just bet Roman was here looking for promising students for the team.

Matt found himself culled into a new group with the Ward twins, the Forsythe twins, Kerry, Berengaria, and Professor Kilburne's cousin Diane from Ravenclaw. Letty complained, but she was still nearly falling off her broom every time she had to turn, so she obviously wasn't ready. Matt felt anxious. Dad would probably like to see him get on the Quidditch team, but Matt didn't really fancy himself a Keeper or a Beater. He wouldn't mind being a Chaser, but they already had that covered, and he wasn't about to suggest that he take Roman's place as Seeker. Maybe he'd wait. Maybe he wouldn't show any interest, and wait to see what positions were open next year. The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. He didn't want to get into Quidditch before he'd even found his place here. He didn't want to be "Potter," and he didn't want to be famous, he wanted to be Matt. Dad would like that, he thought, even better than he'd like to see him on the team. That decided, he flew cautiously, letting Kerry outshine him easily. Berengaria really was a natural, he thought, watching her, and she and Kerry seemed to be having fun with the looping exercise Roman was giving them. The Ward twins kept to themselves, but they were fair flyers. The Forsythe twins seemed uncomfortable with each other, since Felicity was still mad at Ferris for ending up in Gryffindor, but Diane Kilburne was keeping them away from each other.

Matt started to forget himself and just enjoy flying. He let the rush of air brush away his concerns about being a good Gryffindor, about maybe being better friends with Basil than his housemates, missing Dad and Mum and Crash and Charlotte, the anger that Ran wasn't being treated fairly—it all was being washed away by a cool breeze as he looped and dove and soared. He'd learned to love flying. In the air, he was in control and quick and confident. He liked it up here.

With a sudden rush of embarrassment that flooded his cheeks, he realized he'd forgotten the lesson and had been flying on his own without paying any attention to Roman. Kerry was yelling something at him, and everyone was staring at him. Roman looked excited, and Professor Stevens was looking at him oddly. He quickly pulled down to rejoin the others.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I . . . I was just . . . nothing, I'm sorry."

They went back to their exercise, and Matt resolved to keep his head down this time. He didn't need any more of Kerry's ribbing or Berengaria's grinning. He especially didn't need Roman eyeing him like he was a prime cut of meat. He didn't want to be on the Quidditch team. Roman couldn't _make_ him go to tryouts.

---Break---

Matt sat in the library with Basil and Milton, studying Transfiguration notes impatiently.

"We should go find an empty classroom or something to practice in," he said. "We're supposed to be able to do this, not read about it."

Basil and Milton exchanged a look.

"What?"

"Nothing, you've just been having at us every five minutes."

"Have not!" Matt objected.

"Oh, right, my mistake," Basil said, rolling his eyes.

Matt deflated a bit. "I'm just sort of . . . restless."

"Yeah, we noticed," Milton said.

"Doxies in your drawers?" Basil added.

"What's doxies?" Milton asked.

Matt and Basil laughed, and Matt explained them.

"Weird," Milton said, shaking his head. "Every time I think I finally understand all this magic stuff, you two start talking and I realize I have no idea what you're on about."

When Matt checked his watch, Basil suddenly inhaled a breath. "Oh, that's it."

"What?"

"You want to know when Quidditch tryouts finish up."

"I don't care about Quidditch tryouts," he protested. "I don't even know who signed up!"

"Matt, you told us why you're not out there," Basil began.

"But it's obvious that you want to be out there anyway," Milton said with a nod.

Matt looked back and forth between them, feeling annoyed. "Just leave it, okay? If you know why, then don't bother me about it."

The truth was, a lot of students had been whispering about him behind his back the last few weeks, more so since their flying lesson. Apparently he was a show-off just because he was a Potter, and this merited being tripped in the halls and having his note-taking quills stolen right in the middle of class whenever he laid them down. Berengaria had already shoved one boy who'd tripped him and threatened to hex him so bad his mother would sprout tentacles, if he didn't leave Matt alone. Matt appreciated the sentiment but thought it just made him look even more "special."

Basil shrugged. "Anyway, they're over by now. Why don't you go back and find out who made the team? We'll probably want to finish up studying early tomorrow, Milt and I, so we can see if there's anybody new on our team."

"But we have to practice this stuff for class tomorrow."

Basil rolled his eyes, and Milton shook his head. "Matt, you're good at Transfiguration. We're the ones who need to practice this. Go on."

Matt looked torn. "Okay." He stood up. "If you guys don't mind."

"We don't mind," they said in unison.

Matt hurried off to the Gryffindor tower. He wanted to know who was on the team. He'd heard that Aiken Ackerley was going to try out for both positions just to get Roman upset, and he dearly hoped Aiken wasn't actually on the team now. Aiken was crazy. He talked to imaginary people and sometimes went off to chat with the ghosts, and he spent most of his time in detention for pulling stupid pranks. Matt entered the bright red-and-gold room to find the other first years, and plenty of older students, happily surrounding Berengaria and Kerry. He turned and found Ran talking animatedly to a few other second years.

"Hey, Ran, what's going on?" he asked.

Ran turned to him. "I guess Roman asked those two to try out tonight after he saw them during your flying lesson. They're the new Beaters."

Matt looked at Berengaria's face, flushed with happiness, and Kerry's confident strut, and smiled. "Excellent. Who's the new Keeper, then?"

Ran didn't answer, and Matt turned back to look at him. Ran's face was red and excited. "I am."

Matt grinned and clapped him on the back. "Brilliant! You'll be great!"

"Yeah?" Ran asked, as if confirming it for himself.

"Of course," Matt said, rolling his eyes, but before he could further build Ran's fragile ego, he was practically knocked over by Berengaria's enthusiastic embrace.

"I'm on the team, Matt!" she yelled happily.

Suddenly, he started laughing and laughing. He already couldn't breathe past Berengaria's squeezing, and then his laughter caused him to nearly pass out.

"Bear hug!" he gasped, as Berengaria shook him with concern.

"What?"

"Can I call you Bear?" he spluttered.

Suddenly she let go of him, causing him to fall right on his bum almost on Ran's feet. She whooped with laughter.

"Yes! I love it!"


	8. Chapter 6: What We Don't Say

Chapter Six

What We Don't Say

Matt made a face as he watched Kerry, Letty, and Davis engage in a chugging contest with their pumpkin juice. It was too early to be watching that kind of thing. He looked down at his plate of toast and sausages in disgust. He'd been hungry a minute ago. He caught Basil's eye over at the Ravenclaw table. His friend was quietly eating his breakfast and looking through some comic paper, Milton and Diane Kilburne on either side of him. He grimaced at his own tablemates' antics, and Basil jerked his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

_"Yeah?"_ Matt mouthed, happily jumped up when Basil nodded, and carried his plate over to the Ravenclaw table, sliding in between Basil and Diane. Diane gave him a sleepy, nearly cross-eyed look of befuddlement before returning her attention to a bowl of cereal of some kind. Her dark hair was still sort of tufty and there was a faint red line across her cheek from her pillow.

"She was up really late with Felicity," Basil explained. "I guess Felicity's still sad that Ferris is over in your house."

Matt looked past Diane and saw another head of brown bed hair above the sleepy, reddened eyes of Felicity Forsythe, who was also ignoring her surroundings with an air of confusion. He glanced around and saw a few people staring at him. Well, there was no rule saying that people weren't allowed to eat at other tables, was there? What was the big deal? He shoved a huge piece of sausage into his mouth and stared back at Faith Forsythe, a third-year. She ignored him imperially, sipping a cup of tea that she took with a little milk and without sugar, no doubt. He glanced pointedly over at his own house's table, where the Slytherin prefect Lysander Sorenson was reading the morning paper in a cozy cuddle with Lark.

Matt saw an owl hovering uncertainly around the Gryffindor table, then, and caught Bear's eye. He nodded toward the bird, and she carefully snatched the bird as it made a pass. It swiped at her, but she held it up to Matt. He got up again with a slightly mournful look at his toast and hurried to grab the letter from the owl before it could scratch Bear too badly. She looked unperturbed by the claw marks in her hand, but Matt admonished her to go get a salve or something from Madam Pomfrey while he unrolled the paper.

"It's just a note from Hagrid," he mumbled. "Hey, he wants me to come down for tea tonight. He wants to meet my friends. Bear, you want to come?"

Startled to be counted among friends Hagrid should meet, she nonetheless nodded. "Yeah, cool."

Matt rolled the letter back up. "We'll go after classes, then. I'll just go ask Basil to come, and _you_ go to the hospital wing before Transfiguration."

"You're like my mother," she grumbled, poking him playfully in the side.

"Maybe I just hear my mum say things like that all the time," he said agreeably, and propelled her toward the doors. "Basil," he said, catching his friend's arm as he was walking past, "you'll come to see Hagrid with me and Bear tonight, won't you?"

Basil smiled. "Sure. Now, I've got to go to the lav, if you don't mind," he said haughtily, tugging his arm free and waggling his eyebrows.

Laughing, Matt let his friend's arm go and shoved his shoulder.

---Break---

"Matt, 'ow are ye?" Hagrid said warmly, his beard split by the expanse of grinning teeth aimed affectionately in Matt's direction—down. Bear and Basil both stared at the big man with awe, as if they'd forgotten his size since being transported across the lake after getting off the train.

"Hi, Hagrid," Matt returned, giving the affable half-giant as much of a hug as he could manage.

"Righ', it's chilly, you lot come inside," Hagrid growled, waving the three inside with a hand that could knock their heads off but never would. "Ye're Matt's mates, then?"

They nodded.

"That's Basil, and that's Bear," Matt said, gesturing. "Guys, this is Hagrid."

"Jus' made a pot o' tea," Hagrid said, crossing the hut as he spoke. "An' a few biscuits that Matt's mum taught me how ter make." He set the huge teapot on the rough wooden table with a plate of chocolate biscuits that Ginny made all the time and Hagrid had taken a liking to. The three friends eagerly seated themselves at the oversized table.

"Heard from your mum and dad, Matt?" Hagrid asked casually.

"Yeah, Charlotte's learned how to say 'goodnight.' Oh, and Crash says hello. He says he wants more gryphon feathers for his birthday, too, the cheeky little snot."

" 'E's not still runnin' inter everythin'?" Hagrid chuckled.

Matt nodded, happily licking crumbs from his fingers. "How's _your_ brother?" He turned to Basil and Bear. "He's got a brother who's loads bigger than him, but he only lives here during the summer."

Hagrid nodded, beaming. "Saw Grawp off las' week, he was ready to get back home ter the mountains an' the others. Says he might come visit at Christmas if it's not too cold ter travel."

Basil and Bear looked stunned at the prospect of anyone being "loads bigger" than Hagrid, but smiled and drank their tea politely.

"Now, what's this abou' not tryin' out fer Quidditch?" Hagrid said suddenly, giving Matt a betrayed look.

"Oh, you know . . ." Matt said uncomfortably. "I just want to get used to Hogwarts before I do all that stuff. But Bear's one of the new Beaters," he said, waving a biscuit at her. "She's a really good flyer, and she's never even done it before, it's great."

Interested, Hagrid began quizzing Bear about her position, how practices were going, whether Roman was doing well as team captain, and Bear chattered about willingly. Basil and Matt grinned at each other over their enormous mugs. Bear had been talking of little else for the past two weeks since joining the team. The obnoxious people had been leaving Matt alone since finding out he hadn't even gone to the tryouts, but Bear hadn't stopped following him around, like a self-appointed bodyguard. Therefore, she and Basil were getting to know each other, and Basil was getting put to sleep by so much talk of Quidditch plays all the time. He kicked Matt under the table, but with no malice, still smiling. In truth, Matt's friend was an unusually cheerful boy.

Matt looked around Hagrid's hut with pleasure. Fang was no longer around but Hagrid had another huge ugly dog named Spike, curled up to sleep in front of the fire. The talk had turned to their classes, and Basil had joined in the animated chatter. He smiled to himself as he raised his mug for another sip of tea. He could do worse for friends.

"I always heard that Gryffindors and Slytherins hate each other," Bear was saying, causing Matt to perk up. "But that prefect is dating our prefect, he and his brother are nice, and Professor Kilburne's brother is in Slytherin."

Hagrid looked thoughtful and a little less jolly than he had a moment before. "Well, it's true that things're different now," he mused. "S'pose it's havin' ter live with each other for a few years, isn't it?"

"Live with each other?"

"School was nearly closed fer a few years when Voldemort was still alive and them Death Eaters were runnin' loose. There weren't enough students ter go into separate dormitories, were there? So anybody that's in seventh, sixth, and fifth year all lived together with their year when they started. We did the Sorting, but we didn't bother dividin' up the houses. So Slytherins and Gryffindors were sharin' rooms an' all, weren't much freedom ter start a rivalry. 'Ad to learn ter get along, see? So they did, right enough. Old rivalry jus' started to pop up again las' year—or mebbe two years ago—when they got enough students fer Quidditch teams again. More harmless now, I'd say. Not like when yer Dad was here, Matt. It was a great mess back then."

"And Dad had enemies like Malfoy and Nott and Bulstrode," Matt said quietly. "The people who became Death Eaters."

Hagrid nodded soberly. "Yer dad caused a lot of the tension, sorry to say. Bein' the Boy Who Lived and all that rot. War with Voldemort divided people, didn't it? Harry started it, in a way. Nothin' like that here now, so things're much quieter. No bloody Malfoys ter start any problems and get anybody killed," he added with a sudden growl.

Matt didn't like thinking about Malfoys. Bear and Basil both knew the story, and all three of them were looking at him with horror, realizing what they'd brought up. Bear had her mouth open, Basil's face was almost the colour of his ashy blond hair—which made his freckles stand out alarmingly—and Hagrid was saying, "Blimey, Matt, I wasn't thinkin'—"

"It's fine," Matt said. He forced himself to look up from watching biscuit crumbs float on the surface of his tea. "I don't mind."

He honestly wanted to scream when people went into these awkward pauses at any mention of Malfoy. Well, one could hardly discuss the war without bringing up the Malfoys, could they? And Matt wasn't about to stop people from talking about the war. It was like Dad said, stop talking about it and people would forget. Let them forget, and it could happen again. People like Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan and Dennis Creevey and the Weasley boys would die again just because people were too scared to talk about it for fear of offending Harry, the Chosen One. Or Matt, Chosen by association somehow. Matt didn't like it. He loved Mum and Dad, he did, but sometimes he wished he'd been adopted by someone a little less famous. Or maybe that anyone besides Draco Malfoy had killed his parents. Why couldn't it have just been a common burglar?

But Hagrid struggled over something silently, then kept his mouth closed. Matt knew, because he'd heard Dad talking to Hagrid about it, that Hagrid blamed Draco for the death of Albus Dumbledore, who by all accounts had been a great wizard and a great man, not to mention Hagrid's champion and friend since his own school days. Hagrid seemed to hate Malfoy more than anyone, even Matt. Yet he didn't want to say anything about it here in front of Matt and his friends.

"We'd better get back to the castle soon," Bear spoke up suddenly. "It's dark and we've all got to write an essay for Professor Smith tonight."

"Yeah, that's right," Basil said, jumping up, "I almost forgot about that. Professor Smith gives out heaps of homework, you know."

"Thanks for the tea, Hagrid," Matt added, giving him a genuine smile.

" 'Ere, Matt . . ." Hagrid started, looking embarrassed, but Matt just shook his head.

"I'll see you later, Hagrid."

They left the hut and shivered as the wind whipped their robes about in their march up the hill.

"Guys, thanks for—"

"So have you started the essay yet?" Basil interrupted.

Matt felt another burst of gratitude. He could do much worse for friends, indeed. He could have come down here with Kerry and Letty.

---Break---

Drew saw Potter and Talbott and that Ravenclaw boy they were always hanging around with heading up the hill from Hagrid's hut just as he himself was struggling along against the wind, back from Hogsmeade. He'd passed an enjoyable evening there, enjoyable enough that he almost thought he'd be able to get straight to sleep tonight. This walk, however, was starting to bother his leg. He didn't want that. He'd been getting acclimated, he had thought he wouldn't need anything for the pain tonight.

Well, he didn't, did he? He was only going to sleep anyway. He'd slept through worse pain. And with a sight fewer comforts like warm bedding and a banked fire and some peace and quiet while he did so. One got used to it when one was possibly Voldemort's least favorite servant, always screwing up and always being punished for some fumble. At least that much was behind him. What was a little pain in his leg compared to that?

A gust of wind made him lose his grip on a stack of essays he'd taken down to the village to grade while he sat in the pub. He managed to hang onto most of them, but a few blew away, up the hill and entangled with Potter and his friends. Crying out in surprise, the three children gathered them up, looking around for their source and finally spotting him in his dark robes in the graying dusk. Potter hurried over to hand the essays back.

"Here, Professor."

"Thank you, Matt."

Matt frowned in the direction Drew had come from. "Were you in Hogsmeade, sir?"

"I don't think that's really any of your business, do you?" he said stiffly. When Potter looked up at him, startled, he winked to take the edge off. "You three need to get back inside and get yourselves prepared for your classes tomorrow," he said as they approached the other two students.

"Yes, Professor," they all three muttered, and traipsed inside with him at their heels.

Drew stumbled over nothing and barely kept himself from falling, releasing an involuntary cry of pain as he caught himself with his bad leg. The three turned back to look at him, and Potter anxiously began asking him if he was hurt, but Drew cut him off.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me, just worry about doing your homework and getting to bed at a decent hour. I won't have any of you falling asleep in my class," he said lightly, shaking a finger at them jokingly.

"Yes, Professor," they said again, but they were decidedly less enthusiastic this time.

He sighed as they got ahead of him and the Ravenclaw boy separated to head for his own rooms. How pathetic was it, really, that even eleven-year-olds seemed to think he needed looking after?

By the time he finished grading his essays at his desk, he was sure he'd twisted his locked knee joint. It was hurting badly. He stared at the shelf where he kept potion for pain before he resolutely put out the light. He was dealing with this. He was.


	9. Letter 2

_My dear Framer,_

_I hope this missive finds you in good health and happy. I am finding myself in need of some of your more unusual skills and connections over there across the pond to verify a story. I have an American professor who's been here a few weeks, and while I was suspicious at first, I put it down to my innate distrust for you people. I'm only joking, Framer, of course, but I confess that something about his interview for the position did not sit right with me. I resolved to give it a few weeks, but it is still nagging at me terribly. I hope you can put my mind at ease with a few inquiries into the relevant details. Let me tell you what information he has given McGonagall and I._

_His name is Drew Stevens, but please check both Drew and Andrew for me. He claims that he attended a school called the Franklin Magical Institute in New Hampshire, a small school, that he graduated from about ten years ago. Apparently he became uncommonly knowledgeable about Dark Arts and defense while in school, and was recruited by your government for some kind of special program, a secret program. This was when the lycanthropy situation in Canada was at its worst, and he was hired to simply eradicate the most vicious werewolf communities. He called it "dirty work" and said the government wanted to keep the mass killings secret at the time. I believe he referred to himself as "black ops." After being attacked by a particularly vicious werewolf, without contracting the infection, he decided to retire from this work and asked the government to create him a Muggle identity. I know for a fact that a Drew Stevens has worked at the British Embassy in New York City for the last four years, because we were able to check that story with his superior there. What I want you to find, if you can, is a record of his school enrollment, any record you can find of government pay prior to the job in the embassy, and medical records from his attack._

_I'm sure you can see why I cannot trust the man. It seems impossible, even ludicrous, that a man with that sort of past would be interested in teaching British children their Potions. I will, of course, be overjoyed if your information confirms his story, as he has turned out to be a fair instructor, and the students seem to like him. I still find myself wary, I suppose, of attacks from Dark wizards on the school, even several years after all that unpleasantness finally was ended. To find out that Stevens is indeed a Dark wizard with malicious intent would not surprise me, after the way he responded to our Sorting Hat. He seemed to think it would proclaim everything in his head to McGonagall and I. Any man who fears having the truth about himself spoken, well, that's not a man to trust._

_I appreciate your discretion, Framer, and I will look forward to hearing from you as soon as possible. My thanks for anything you can turn up._

_With regard,_

_Zacharias Smith_


	10. Chapter 7: Contact War

Chapter Seven

The Contact War

Drew had a question about an essay Smith had set the students; he'd come across them writing something last night that he honestly thought had to be a deliberate joke on Smith's part. He didn't appreciate the man giving the kids extra, quite useless, homework when they could be spending the time learning something important.

"Or getting to be kids for ten minutes, Salazar forbid," he muttered to himself as he stepped through the half-open door to Smith's room. He stopped short when he found Smith on his knees with his head thrust into the fireplace. He almost backed out of the room, but he heard his name and was instantly on full alert, his nerves screaming.

"I don't like Stevens' story, I'm telling you. But don't worry, Harry, I've got a man checking on his school enrollment and medical records in the States right now. I'll get back to you if there's a real problem. I just wanted to update the Aurors on a potential situation." Smith paused for a few seconds, listening to whatever Harry was saying, wherever he was. "Your son's fine. No. Harry, do you really think I'd let him anywhere near your son if I thought he was an immediate threat? In fact, all the kids seem to like him. I think Stevens is rather fond of Matthias, honestly."

_Fond of him?_ Drew reeled from the word "fond" in relation to any Potter as much as from the realization that Smith was having him checked out. Oh, damn. He had to contact Tuck _now_.

---Break---

Drew was not thrilled that he'd had to walk outside the wards and Apparate all the way into London to find a pay phone. He really should call Tillie, while he was using the phone, he thought. It wasn't exactly kind to have walked out of her flat without an explanation and no contact ever since. Still, getting in touch with Tuck was far more important at the moment. Luckily he still had some Muggle money riding in the pocket of a pair of trousers, so he stopped in at a tourist dive for an international calling card. He snorted at the stupid t-shirts and coffee mugs plastered with photos of Big Ben, maps of London, "Mind the Gap" slogans, and wondered how much money one could make printing t-shirts with silhouettes of Gringotts and "Expelliarmus" splashed garishly across everything from shot glasses to knickers.

He left that thought behind as he waited anxiously for the phone to stop ringing and be picked up. "Hello? Tuck?"

"Who's this?" the husky-voiced New Yorker asked suspiciously.

Drew almost smacked himself. Only a certain group of people called him Tuck, and he'd just started speaking with far too much of his old British accent.

"It's Drew, Tuck," he said, tempering his voice much more carefully.

"Drew, how da hell a' ya? _Where_ da hell a' ya?"

"I'm still in London. Listen, I haven't got the time to explain, so just shut up for a minute. I'm in trouble. I gave a story to some people here, and they're not naive enough for it. They're double-checking the story."

"Shit, kid. You need me to create some kinda paper trail or what?"

"Sort of. Ah, we've talked about, you know, the world I come from?"

"Da one where you're a wizard?"

Drew sighed. Tuck still didn't really believe that wizards had their own society, and the man had known about magic for three years, ever since the nightclub bouncer had pulled a very startled Drew drunk out of a gutter and Drew had brandished a little stick that covered him in angry boils. Known as Tuck only to the people who knew about his less-than-legal dealings, the bouncer normally went by Henley. He refused to tell the story of where the nickname had come from, just demanded that his customers use it to cue him that they were looking for something a little more serious than a hookup at the club.

"Yeah, this is about that. Listen, I told them I went to a school for wizards, so I'm going to need you to go up to this school and break into their office. The place is called the Franklin Magical Institute. It'll be difficult, because it'll probably have anti-Muggle wards all over it, but your guy Pauley can get you past those."

"Pauley's one a' you wizards?" Tuck growled.

"Yeah, but he doesn't know I know. So your payback for all this can be scaring the shit out of him when you tell him you know what he is and tell him what you need him to do."

"So what am I doin', creating a false identity in their computer system?"

"No, unfortunately, they won't have computers. It's going to be like breaking into a dusty old library, Tuck. You're going have to go through some mouldy papers and find a nice identity of a student from a class ten years ago. Look for a student who got good grades, tell Pauley you're looking for a kid who was good with Dark stuff."

"Dark stuff?"

"Yes. He'll help you find a good file. You get me that name, and I will love you forever, Tuck. I swear I will. I'll even stay over here in London and leave you the hell alone, just for you."

"Well, shit, kid, dis should be easy. Where's da school?"

"Ah, that's the thing, Tuck. It's in New Hampshire."

Even Drew's profanity had its limits.

"Come on, Tuck, my virgin ears!"

Tuck chuckled. "Only fuh you, kid. Only fuh you would I do this."

"I know it. But you owe me."

"Kid, I owe you so many times I gotta become one of dese wizards and make copies of myself to start payin' you back."

Drew chuckled. "That's one of those things we can't do, Tuck. Just like conjuring up Pamela Anderson." He inhaled a deep breath. "Tuck, I need this done yesterday."

"Yeah, I figured. Consider it done."

"I really do love you, Tuck."

"Whatevah, Drew. How you want me to let you know?"

"I'll call you."

"All right. Take care a' yourself, kid, you hear me?"

"I hear you. Thanks."

"See ya."

He blew out that deep breath he'd taken with relief. Tuck was a good guy. The best. He'd have this done by the time Drew called or he'd kill himself trying. Drew tried not to reflect on how he'd gotten himself in with Tuck to begin with, and how many favours they'd done for each other now. It was just part of life in New York—a little dangerous, a lot lonely, but a hell of a lot of fun sometimes.

---Break---

Zacharias, feeling smugly superior and at the same time extremely nervous, read his correspondence from Framer to McGonagall. She sat in stony silence, her anger becoming more palpable with each sentence. He concluded the letter and looked up.

"I'm sorry, Headmistress, I really am, but I couldn't ignore it anymore. And Framer's proven me right. Drew Stevens didn't go to that school, Drew Stevens was never treated for leg and facial injuries in any hospitals in the two Canadian provinces with the worst problems or in New York, or in New Hampshire for that matter. His story is false. He's lying."

McGonagall was in a real rage now, Zacharias realized. He felt bad for having to break the news to her. She might have thought she was fooling him, pretending not to be frustrated by her failing eyesight, but to have it affect her judgement and put her students at risk moved frustration to another level entirely.

"How dare you?" she seethed, and Zacharias was so startled, all he could think of to say was,

"What?"

"You, Zacharias, how dare you question me and go behind my back this way? You are not the Headmaster just yet, and my decisions are still binding here. I told you to trust him, but you don't even trust me, do you Zacharias?"

"But Headmistress, aren't you listening, I was right! I think—"

"I'm sure I know what you think, Professor," she said, suddenly much cooler. "And here is what I think. I think that you will go and tell Professor Stevens what you have done, and you will ask him for his perfectly reasonable explanation."

"Do you know something I don't—"

"And then you will apologize to him for your mistrust and deceitful actions. Then you will return to my office and do the same with me. Understood?"

"Listen, Minerva, I won't pretend to understand why you're defending him, but I won't do this! I'm firecalling Harry and having him bring a couple of Aurors down here to question him formally—immediately."

"Fine!" McGonagall snapped, banging both hands on her desk as she fixed him with an icy glare that chilled him straight to the bone. "Do that! And when you're done, pack your things!"

"Are— are you serious? What aren't you telling me, _Headmistress_?"

"I've already told you that I trust the man, Zacharias. I don't have an explanation for it, and I don't need one. This is my school." She suddenly turned her head toward the portrait on the wall of a random past headmaster who had an identical portrait in Filch's office. "I'm so sorry to disturb you, but would you mind asking Argus to find Professor Stevens for me and send him along to my office? Thank you." She turned back to him. "And you, Zacharias, may step outside for a moment so that I may compose myself. You will not confront him until you are both seated here in front of my desk."

Zacharias got to his feet in a huffing rage and exited the office without another word.

Minerva inclined her head to the portrait directly over her, the portrait that had been pretending to sleep all through the altercation. "You're sure of this, Albus?"

"I'm sure, Minerva," Dumbledore's portrait said in a tired, unperturbed voice. "This Professor Stevens is to be trusted, I think. From what you've told me and what I've seen so far this year, he's doing an excellent job of keeping the children in order without causing them to resent him. That's a rare gift, as I'm sure you know."

"This information about his past is a bit worrying."

"That it is. I've no doubt it will sort itself out, though," he said calmly. "These things seem to."

"All right, then. As long as you're sure."

"You've always trusted me, Minerva. My death hasn't changed that, has it?"

"No, Albus," she said with a sad smile. "You're still quite the conniving old bastard, aren't you?"

He laughed with delight. "Thank you."

The door opened and he immediately feigned sleep again.

Drew was shepherded in by Zacharias, and Minerva could almost smell the wariness on him. "Is something wrong, Headmistress?" he asked warily.

She sighed, feeling much, much older than she had this morning. "I'm afraid so. Have a seat." When they were seated, she gestured. "Zacharias." She knew he was puffing his chest out in preparation, and shot him a glare to deflate it. "Quickly, please."

"You're a liar, Stevens," he said baldly. "If that's your name."

"Excuse me?" Minerva was impressed at how steady he sounded, like he was offended and angry instead of worried and frightened.

"I checked your backstory. There was no Drew Stevens, nor Andrew Stevens, nor Stevenson, at Franklin Magical Institute ten years ago. Nor was there a man with any of those names in a hospital being treated for a shattered leg and the loss of an eye five years ago. Who are you?"

Minerva felt an almost tangible wave of sudden relaxation from the young professor. "Oh. Well, I don't blame you for double-checking things. I do have a very unlikely history, don't I?"

"Stevens," Zacharias said warningly, and Minerva wondered with trepidation whether this would come to wands.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you got me so worked up, but it's a very simple explanation, Professor Smith," he laughed. "My real name isn't Drew Stevens."

Zacharias and Minerva both froze. "It isn't?" she ventured.

"No, it's the Muggle identity that was created for me. I'm so sorry, I didn't think, I've been acting as Drew Stevens for so long now, I just didn't think you'd be looking so far into my past. My real name is Peter Putnam. I'm sure if you want to double-check, you'll find my school records under that name. I'm so sorry, I'd put ambitious young Peter Putnam behind me, I didn't think . . ."

"Do not concern yourself about it, Professor," Minerva said as warmly as she could, relieved beyond words at this revelation. "As you can see, we were just overreacting. I'm so sorry to have disturbed you."

"Not at all, Headmistress. I wouldn't want you to simply take me at my word. Please, check again, by all means. I'm awfully sorry for the confusion. Would you prefer me to reschedule my lessons for a few days and leave the castle while you verify this?"

"No, that really won't be necessary, Professor. You're becoming quite invaluable, you see."

She sensed that he was both surprised and pleased by the compliment. "Thank you. In that case, would you please call me Drew? I've gotten used to the name, and it's just collecting dust while everyone stands on ceremony."

"Certainly, Drew," she said with a smile. She doubted Zacharias would ever achieve that level of informality, but the boy really was becoming quite as paranoid as Alastor Moody had been. "I'll let you get back to your evening, then."

"Thank you, Headmistress."

"You may call me Minerva, if you prefer."

There was a shocked pause. "I really couldn't do that," he answered carefully. "But thank you. Goodnight to both of you." He exited. With a hesitation, and a huff at the look on her face, Zacharias left with a muttered goodnight before she could say anything.

"Right as always, Albus," she said with a smile.

"Oh, we both know I'm not _always_ right, Minerva. Only a good deal of the time," he chuckled.

The portrait of Phineas Nigellus came to attention stiffly. "Potter would like to know if Professor Stevens is cleared and if his son is safe."

"Everything is fine, Phineas," Albus' portrait assured him. "Tell Harry his son will always be safe with me."

Phineas exited, presumably to relay the words, then reappeared, looking even more stiff. "He says he knows. Forgive him for worrying."

"Thank you, Phineas."

Minerva yawned. "I'm going off to bed now. Thank you for your help tonight, everyone."

There was a chorus of murmurs as she exited.

---Break---

"Just wanted to let you know that it worked. I expect they're checking out the Putnam alias right now. Thanks for getting the information for me."

"Did ya one better, kid. Don and me hacked inta da computer system at a hospital here in da city, and found a Peter Putnam, got treated for pneumonia. I changed da records, with Don feedin' me the right language, to say treated for gouged eye and blown knee. You're covered from dat angle."

"I'd get down on one knee if I could, Tuck. Marry me."

"Love you, too, sweetheart. I just don't think I'm ready for da commitment."

"Hey, you owe me a lifetime, remember? Let's set a date for the ceremony."

"What, and have you blame da ring when ya lose your groove at da club?"

Drew stopped laughing. "Tuck," he said seriously. "I'm not worried about my groove at the club anymore."

"You giving up da party life, kid?"

"I'm not coming back, Tuck."

That brought Tuck up short. "Why not?"

"I like it here, Tuck. All I've got in New York is you."

"And all you've got in London is fish and chips and a date wid Mary Poppins."

"I've got a home here. A place, you know? This is where I belong."

"You've been lookin' for dat for a long time, kid. How do ya know ya found it?"

"Tuck, I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone in my entire life, you know that?"

"I do."

Drew dropped his voice and allowed his natural patterns of speech to take over. "England is my home, Tuck. This is where I was raised. I need to be where I grew up and somehow find a way to face my old mistakes, the ones I was hiding from in New York."

"God, kid, you're one a' dem tea-drinkers?"

"Afraid so, mate."

Tuck's voice dropped. "You got family dere?"

Drew opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. "Not anymore. They died doing the same thing that almost got me killed." And that was very nearly true, he reflected. _Not anymore . . ._

"And what's that?"

"Fighting on the losing side of the war."

Tuck started swearing so much it was nearly incoherent. Drew pieced together that he was basically asking, "were you one of those Death Eaters I read about working for that Dark Lord?"

"You've seen that huge burn on my arm, Tuck. It used to be his Mark on me. Listen, Tuck, I was sixteen years old and all I ever wanted to be was my father. Well, now my father's dead and everything he owned is gone, and I'm having to stare at the results of my actions every day. It hurts like hell to realize how much I wish I wasn't who I am."

"What did you do, kid? What are you starin' at?"

"A kid, Tuck. A little boy whose parents I killed. A little boy whom I really like and who has told me that I'm his favorite teacher. Everything's so different now. I don't hate any of the people I used to hate, and I feel so much regret for what I did here."

"You're a teacher? Are you at dat Hogwarts place?"

"Yes. It's the closest thing to home I've got now. The funny thing is, I like being a teacher. I'm responsible for making sure these children are nothing like me. It's like my penance, only it can't be, because I enjoy it."

"All dis time, I was thinkin' you were just depressed or somethin' kid. So I went and did all this for you just so you don't have to come back and keep coverin' my ass with your magic tricks? So you can be a damn nose-wiper for a bunch of kids who'd turn you in if dey knew who you was?"

"Yes, Tuck. That's why."

Tuck was silent so long Drew thought the call had dropped.

"Tuck?"

"I don't know what ta say, kid. I knew you didn't have a problem with crime or you wouldn't be workin' wid me, but this . . . I mean, you murdered people for a crazy guy who wanted to take over da world."

"I know I did. Actually, I spent most of my time in his service recovering from various punishments for my failures. I killed people to try and draw out my enemies to avenge the deaths of my parents. I was crazy, Tuck. I was actually mad for a little while. I don't think I pulled out of it until you found me. We always joke about what you owe me for all the situations I've gotten you out of the last few years. But honestly Tuck, I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you. I'm the one who owes you."

"You don't sound like a guy who'd kill people, Drew."

"Well, my name wasn't Drew, then."

"Gotcha. Well, the guy I know, his name is Drew, and he's a good guy. I trust Drew. And I wish Drew the best of luck, I really do. He deserves it."

Drew forced his American voice back into being. "Tuck, that's who I am now. Drew is who I am, I promise."

There was a long pause, and Drew knew Tuck was thinking hard. He was struggling to understand who his partner in crime really was, and accept it. "Then I hope things work out for ya, kid. God knows you're tryin' hard enough."

"Thanks, Tuck," he sighed in relief.

"See you, kid."

"You treat Lisa right and give Bonnie a kiss for me."

"Will do."

The line went dead. Drew tried to stop crying before he went back to Hogwarts.


	11. Chapter 8: The Parts We Play

Chapter Eight

The Parts We Play

Drew felt like he was dragging himself through mud all day. His worries about being found out were relieved thanks to Tuck's brilliance, but giving the guy the hard news about his permanent relocation on top of revealing his past had drained him. Tuck was a good man, despite his lawbreaking ways and foul mouth, and it was tough to tell someone like him the truth. Tuck had believed him to be a boy from New England down on his luck when he was actually a spectre from Olde England at the end of his rope. Tuck had believed that helping Drew through a bout of depression and to stop drinking so much was repayment for the two times Drew had saved his skin at the club—once by Transfiguring a broken bottle into a throw pillow, and once by surreptitiously casting a Jelly-Legs Jinx on two of the three rowdies encircling him—when he was actually the only thing stable Drew could find to cling to. Tuck had believed Drew was just a guy like him and his friends looking to make a quick buck once in a while and back each other up, when Drew was just trying to find a life he could immerse himself into and didn't care who was in that life. Tuck had believed him to be a decent man, a man like him, when he was anything but. And now Tuck had helped him and continued to trust him even after finding out he had done nothing but lie to the man. Drew knew it was time to stop fooling himself.

He was Draco Malfoy. A boy who'd tormented others all his life simply because he knew he was nothing special and couldn't watch others flourish. A teenager who'd wanted nothing so much as he wanted to be as extraordinary as his father but couldn't even manage to kill a weakened old man. A young man who had allowed grief and anger and frustration to drive him so far over the edge that he'd done things even he considered unspeakable. A madman and a murderer. And finally broken. Broken by a pudgy, awkward young man he'd ridiculed half his life. He hadn't even merited the glory of being broken by a worthy adversary. And yet . . . in his heart he knew Neville Longbottom was more than worthy. He'd lost his parents to the war, too, and he'd risen above that. He had such a small handful of talents, but he'd never been afraid to use them to help his friends. Draco had only ever been selfish and interested in gaining his own ends. After knowing Tuck, and Pauley, and Lisa, and Bonnie, and Don, another group of people who all looked out for each other and looked out for him, he no longer had the ignorance to say friends made you weak. Or to say Muggles had nothing to contribute. Or to say that being broke and ugly was worse than death.

He didn't want to be Draco Malfoy. He wanted to be Drew Stevens. But what was Drew, other than a character he'd created to avoid the pain of being himself? What did it make him? It made him old and bitter before his time. And lonely. And ashamed. He worried about himself. He worried he'd forget everything he learned and start hurting people again. He'd thought to redeem himself that day, that day with Potter when they were nineteen and suddenly the fate of everything they knew was laying there between them. But he'd been so stupid. There was no redemption for people like him. There might have been, once. A man he'd thought was very foolish had tried to give it to him, and if he had come to his senses only seconds sooner, that foolish old man might be alive. Which would have meant Narcissa Malfoy would be alive, and Neville, and Matt Potter's biological parents. Draco wouldn't be here pretending to be Drew. He might have nothing more than nearly killing Katie Bell and Ron Weasley to regret, and such a light burden as that seemed so enviable. Snape had taken that all away from him, that long-ago night on the Astronomy Tower, but it was really Draco's fault. If he'd given in only a moment sooner, they might all be alive. Instead they were dead, and Draco was battered and scarred and pretending to be something he wasn't—worthy.

So he leaned on his cane and dragged himself forward another halting step and wondered why he bothered. He was heading for class, his second-year class, and he might be late if he moved any slower. Why was he going? These kids thought he was someone else. They'd never step foot in a room with him, no matter how much they were learning, if they knew who he really was. He should resign. After all he'd put Tuck and Pauley and Don through to keep this job, he thought he ought to resign. He wasn't good enough at this to merit staying. He wouldn't inflict his presence on this school any longer.

He passed a group of Slytherin students heading from their common room for classes, and one of them nearly knocked him over. He would have fallen, but Ran Edwards caught him and steadied him.

"All right, sir?" he asked casually.

Drew wanted to glare at him, but the boy wasn't even looking at him, just lightly holding his elbow in case he stumbled again. Ran Edwards was driving him crazy. The boy had been following him around this entire term to date, chattering about the letter Remus Lupin had sent him, his interest in Drew's subject versus his interest in Charms, how Drew thought the Gryffindor Quidditch team was looking and asking for pointers on his Keeping technique . . . and so on. Drew allowed it because he'd seen how lonely the boy was. Potter and Talbott talked to him willingly enough, but the students in Ran's own year seemed to ignore him and even fear him. Drew didn't find it entirely fair. Ran was a very nice and bright kid with a heart of gold; Drew had seen what it looked like to be a vicious werewolf, and Ran wasn't it.

He heard sniggering laughter and realized that Bradley Laddon had started up again. The first-year was cocky and arrogant as all hell, and it annoyed Drew no end to hear the mouth on the boy. Laddon was worse than he'd been at that age, if it were even possible. He'd come upon Laddon ridiculing Milton Little for being a Muggleborn with such a small amount of magical strength, and Matt Potter had stepped in to defend the boy. Laddon turned his attention on the skinny orphan and started making very cutting remarks about his nightmares and sneering at his adoptive parents. Salazar only knew how Laddon had found out about Potter's nightmares, but seeing Matt mocked into speechlessness for something that had been Drew's fault had brought rage up in him in an instant. Berengaria, "Bear" now, had pushed the small Laddon boy up against a wall and threatened to separate him from his teeth. Laddon had only sneered that the adults would never allow it. Drew had been tempted to prove him wrong, but he was _supposed_ to be responsible for these kids, so he'd stepped in and broken it up, sending them on their way.

Now Laddon was at it again, mocking him, it seemed. Well, Drew did give him plenty of fuel, what with the cane, the eyepatch, the foreignness, and—was that little snipe actually calling him a _Mudblood_ just because he was walking with a Muggleborn boy? He'd start in on Ran next, Drew realized, and that would send Ran spiralling into a depressed stupor for days. He couldn't allow that, Ran was the best student in second year and he counted on him to help the other students.

Laddon never got the chance to move on to Ran. Ran slipped away from Drew, approached Laddon calmly until they were almost touching noses, and stared at him. Then he bared his teeth.

"Keep talking about him like that, Laddon. Go ahead."

"And you'll do what, werewolf?"

"What do you think werewolves do when they're angry?" Ran asked quietly. He ran his tongue over the top row of his teeth. "I'll bite you."

"It wouldn't do anything, you're not transformed right now," Laddon said smoothly, stepping back with a smirk.

Ran just smiled. "I didn't say today."

Drew stepped forward at last. "Enough. Edwards, we both know you're not going to bite anyone. And Laddon, _we_ both know you don't mean what you say and you're going to end it, now."

Laddon sneered at him. Drew gripped his arm and pulled him away to speak very, very softly. "I have had enough of you tormenting the other students." Wondering what he thought he was doing, he carefully lifted the eyepatch to give Laddon a peek at the ugly wrinkled socket. "You know what I did to the person who gave me this? I killed him, Laddon. I don't take assaults lightly. And I definitely don't take assaults on my students lightly. So this stops now."

"Or you'll kill me?" Laddon asked, smirking.

God, were all Slytherins this unsufferable? Was this why the rest of the school had hated them so much? Where had this kid gotten his mouth? And why did he feel such a strong need to defend Ran?

"No, but I'll tell your mother."

He had him. Laddon's eyes widened and his jaw twitched. Just like he'd thought. A tightly reined-in boy who had been chafing to get to school and away from rules. Give them a little freedom and they thought the world was theirs. It wasn't, not by a long shot.

"You want to be pulled out of this school because you can't manage to act respectfully? Make no mistake, Laddon, the problem is you. What will you tell your mother when you're not allowed back at Hogwarts? Hmm?"

"Don't," the boy whispered.

"That's up to you, isn't it? You show me you deserve the chance. Got it?"

The boy nodded. White-faced and slightly damp with sweat, the boy ran in the direction of his fellow Slytherins and disappeared.

Drew turned back toward his own classroom.

"That was very cool, sir," Ran said, sounding impressed. "What did you say?"

"Secret professor trick, very confidential," Drew answered with a wink.

Ran laughed.

"Ran, you know you can't threaten people like that."

"I know, but he was already having a go at me, so I thought I could use his expectations against him."

"Yes, well, a twelve-year-old showing his teeth to a kid isn't quite as scary as a teddy bear, but you still have to be careful not to make the poor tyke wet himself."

Ran laughed again, but sobered quickly. "Sir? I need to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"The . . . the full moon is coming up this weekend. I need—"

"The headmistress already spoke to me. I've made sure I have all the ingredients for Wolfsbane potion ready."

"Really?" Ran replied with a grin.

"Yes, well, I'm just as eager as you are not to have you running about the castle out of your mind and trying to hurt people."

Ran nodded. "Matt said he'd stay with me for a little while, but I told him he couldn't. He's not experienced enough to deal with it if anything goes wrong. But if you're brewing it, nothing will go wrong."

Drew let out a surprised bark of amusement. "Well, the implication is nice, but I'm not perfect, Ran. It's certainly not a good idea to have other kids there with you."

"No, but you're good at Potions. I trust you."

They entered the classroom, and it was difficult for Drew to catch his breath. Trust him? The boy was completely confident. He knew Drew could handle this problem just as effortlessly as he'd handled Bradley Laddon. A lot of these kids had the trust in him that a child showed an adult, the trust that the adult was smarter or at least more experienced than they and should be obeyed. But Ran's trust was a different thing entirely, and a heady thing to experience. He trusted Drew not only to mind him, but to take care of him. It was almost as frightening as the idea of leaving. But infinitely better, somehow.

He didn't have to make his final decision about leaving yet. Ran was counting on him.


	12. Chapter 9: Dark Tiding From A Dark World

Chapter Nine

Dark Tidings From a Dark World

Harry and Dan were headed to the café on the Ministry's ground floor for lunch when Kingsley poked his head from his Head Auror office and asked to speak with them immediately. Harry genuinely liked Dan Waverly, who had two kids at Hogwarts, and he was planning to use their lunch hour to share his concerns over what Zacharias Smith had brought to his attention about the new Potions professor. Instead, he sighed and entered Shacklebolt's office. Kingsley never did this unless it was important.

"There's been a murder," the grave man said immediately after they closed the door.

Harry and Dan both stood up straighter.

"It looks like Dark work to me," the large Black man continued, looking at Harry.

Harry took a seat. "Let's have it."

Kingsley didn't waste any time, not even waiting for Dan to sit before explaining. "It was reported to the Muggle police this morning. As you know, we've been staying in contact with their Ministry pretty regularly the past ten years, and they let us know when they've got something odd."

Harry and Dan both nodded impatiently; everyone knew that.

"They can't figure out how he died, so my first thought is Dark magic. I've asked in the office and identified the victim as a wizard with Dark leanings, one who was too cowardly to join the war and has always maintained a low profile."

"Name?" Harry asked.

"Tyrell. He has a son, Thomas Tyrell, about nineteen years old. He had him privately educated, which tells me something already."

Harry nodded, and Dan made a sour face. Private schooling usually meant instruction in subjects better left unstudied.

"The son has disappeared. I want you to inspect Tyrell's body and determine cause of death, then head over to the home to look for clues about the boy's whereabouts."

"Is it more likely that he was taken, or that he ran?" Dan inquired, his fingers steepled together.

Harry liked the sound of this not at all, and he knew Kingsley's answer before the man even gave it. "Likely ran. Neighbors say he was an extremely odd boy, and one of them named him as a likely suspect in his father's murder."

Sometimes Harry hated his intuition. This was not going to be a fun afternoon.

---Break---

Harry went into the house first, wand in hand, and checked the foyer before waving at Dan to follow him in. Their trip to the morgue had confirmed what he had already suspected—the man had died by the _Avada Kedavra_ curse. Harry had been mesmerized by the man's face. The expression frozen on it was so unexpected that it had taken him five minutes of staring to figure out what he was seeing. He was seeing pride. Whoever had killed Tyrell, the man had been proud of. This confirmed for Harry beyond all doubt that it was the son, Thomas Tyrell, who'd done it. His father had probably taught him the spell himself. Harry wondered if the man had known the boy would turn his newfound knowledge on him, but didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to get into the house and find the boy as soon as possible.

He and Dan decided their best bet was Thomas' room, so they found it quickly. As soon as Harry stepped foot in the room, he knew what they had in store for them this afternoon.

"My god . . ." Dan mumbled, rubbing his hand over his close-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.

Harry turned around abruptly. "Be right back, Dan."

"Where are you going?"

"Fireplace in the parlour. I have to tell Ginny I'll be home late."

---Break---

The conversation with Ginny hadn't been particularly enjoyable, what with having to explain he was investigating Dark murder, but Harry was still more reluctant to end it and reenter Thomas Tyrell's bedroom. Dan was currently taking the opportunity to firecall his wife and tell her what Harry had just told Ginny, and Harry was irrationally hesitant to start searching the room without him. He just stared at the walls.

Clippings from the Daily Prophet papered the walls—the same article over and over. Dark Lord Defeated, the headline ran. Harry Potter Saves Wizarding World. And red ink scribbled out furious insults across every clipping. _Wanker. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Sucked. R.I.P. Voldemort. Long live the Dark Lord!_ There was a picture of nineteen-year-old Harry, looking half-dead and shell-shocked, staring at the camera with hollow eyes. In some pictures, with no eyes, they'd been torn out. In some pictures, with red ink drawn over his throat. That was six years ago now. Harry could still hardly believe he had lived to see twenty-five, not when Ron had died at eighteen. Apparently someone else couldn't believe it, either.

Dan came back in, and stood in the doorway just behind him. He stared for a long time, then finally let out a low whistle. "Harry, I hate to tell you this, but I think someone's carrying a grudge against you," he quipped weakly.

"Thank Merlin this stayed out of the Muggle news," Harry replied. "And our news, for that matter. Oh, shit, go back to the fireplace and get hold of Kingsley. Tell him no reporters. Keep the press out of here, no matter what. I don't want this getting out and panicking everyone."

Dan nodded and hurried back to relay the message.

"I can't believe this," Harry muttered, looking over the clippings again. "Bugger me." He rubbed his hands over his face, willing the whole thing away while he closed his eyes and focused on the scratch of his five o'clock shadow against his palms. It was still there was he looked again. "Bugger," he said again.

He shrugged his shoulders, as if that could rid him of the crawling sense of dread he was feeling, and refused to sit around waiting for Dan to hold his hand any longer. He strode across the room to the boy's desk and started opening drawers. He found the expected rolls of parchment and broken quills scattered with candy wrappers and dirty mags, the standard fare for a teenaged boy. Dan came in while he was rummaging through the desk, and started looking at the bookcase.

"Harry, there's some nasty stuff here. You wouldn't even find some of this the infamous Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library." He pulled a book off the shelf and opened the front cover. He drew in a choked breath. "Harry."

Harry looked up. "What?"

"This book once belonged to Lucius Malfoy. It's got the Malfoy's crest stamped in it."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked at Dan. "I'll wager any amount you like that Tyrell stole that or paid someone to steal it when we were clearing out the Malfoy estate."

Dan nodded. "That's a wager I'd lose. I can't believe he'd give this kind of shit to his kid. I wouldn't let mine touch it with a ten-foot pole."

Harry suddenly looked down at what his hand was resting on. "Dan! Got it." He flipped it open. "_'This journal belongs to Thomas Tyrell'_," he read from the front page. "_'Read it and I'll rip out your mother's intestines.'_"

"Lovely," Dan said with raised eyebrows.

"There's only one entry," Harry said, his heart in his throat.

"Let's hear it."

"_'Tonight, I asked Father the one question about the Dark Lord whose answer he hasn't volunteered. I asked him if it was true that the Great One had discovered a means to immortality. Father said it was ridiculous, obviously so, since that Potter bastard killed him.'_ You're damned right I did," Harry mumbled, then read on."_'But I already knew better. I might have only been eleven, but I remember hearing Father talk to a man named Severus Snape about whether he would join the Dark Lord. I remember Snape telling Father not to worry that Potter would ever harm the Great One, for he had made himself immortal, and I learned from listening that night what a bumbling fool Potter really was. No doubt killing the Great One was mere chance or accident.' _You'd like to think so, wouldn't you, stupid kid? Should have known better than to listen to the likes of Snape."

"Harry," Dan admonished. "I want to hear the rest."

"All right._ 'But no matter. I told Father I remembered it, and I asked him again if he knew the secret to immortality. Father seemed impressed at my ability to recall, but the only thing he knew was that the Dark One had somehow divided his soul. He knew nothing of how it was done. No matter. I shall discover that on my own. Meanwhile, now I know that Father is capable of lying to me, and does not wish me to achieve my capacity for greatness. He has just made himself disposable to me.'_"

Dan coughed. "I guess that answers the murder question, doesn't it?"

"I was wrong," Harry answered, feeling like someone had just scooped out his stomach and left him hollow. His heart was sinking to fill the void. "There's a little more on the next page."

"Well?"

"_'Splitting one's soul to achieve immortality is somehow done through killing. I don't know how yet, but Father will make good practice.'_"

"Harry? You don't look very good."

Harry put a hand on the desk, feeling dizzy. He'd kept what he knew to himself. He and Hermione both had. They _never_ talked about what Voldemort had done, or explained why it had taken two years to kill him. No one should know this. No one. But now someone did know. Harry had to find this boy before he figured out the rest. What if . . . what if he had _Malfoy_? Had Malfoy known more than Harry thought he did?

"Harry?"

"No, oh no," he groaned, falling to his knees. The journal fell from his grasp and thunked on the hardwood floor. "Not again."

---Break---

"Harry, you're home," Ginny said with obvious relief, throwing herself forward just as Harry walked in the door.

He put his arms around her slowly, feeling like each limb weighed a hundred pounds. He was exhausted. After a thorough search of the Tyrell home with two other Aurors they'd called in to help, he and Dan had spent two more hours in the office putting together a report and helping Kingsley write out a statement to issue to the whole Auror division in the morning. Harry hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it was practically bedtime. It could be worse. He could be still at the office with Kingsley, trying to figure out what he was going to tell the Minister and when. Harry and Rufus Scrimgeour had not gotten along well, not since their first meeting when Harry was sixteen, and Scrimgeour was constantly on Kingsley's case about Harry's work. He didn't envy Kingsley that job.

"Do you want something to eat?" Ginny asked with her face buried in his neck. "Merlin, I've been so worried."

"No, I can't eat. I'm too tired. I'm sorry I was so late. What a day."

Ginny guided him to the kitchen table and, with her hands on his shoulders, forced him to sit down. "First of all, you need to eat something. Secondly, I want to hear what's going on while I warm something up."

"I really don't have an appetite. But sit down and I'll tell you."

Ginny didn't sit, but she listened attentively while she fixed him a cup of tea. He related the events of the day, feeling more exhausted with each word and almost too tired to dance around the subject of Horcruxes and what Thomas Tyrell may or may not know about them. Almost too tired. He'd never told her and he didn't mean to change that anytime soon.

He wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic and inhaled the scent of his tea, feeling just a little bit of tension leave his shoulders. He chuckled, feeling surprised that he even had it in him to do so.

"What's funny? This isn't funny."

"No, this is," he said, nodding his head to indicate the tea. "You're a lawyer, not a timid housewife. But here you are, bustling around the kitchen wanting to feed me and make me tea."

"I've been worried," Ginny said with annoyance, then suddenly her eyes widened. "Oh, no, I'm turning into my mother, aren't I?"

Harry shook his head. "No, not quite." He sipped his tea. "Well, maybe a little."

She punched his shoulder, and he chuckled again.

"Daddy!" a small voice squealed, then his arms were full of a happily squirming and godawfully energetic four-year-old. "You're home!"

"Hey there, Crash," he sighed, planting a dutiful kiss into his dark hair. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"I was scared because you didn't come home," Sirius said plainly, sounding unconcerned now. "But you did come home now, so you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm okay," he mumbled. "Let's get you back to bed, Crash." He stood up, groaning as he hoisted the solid little body up with him.

"I'm big-time Crash today. Mummy said so."

"What?" Harry finally actually looked at him. "Oh hell. What happened to you?"

"I was running and I ran into the table," he said cheerfully, squinting up at him with an eye mostly swollen shut and the deep purple-red of a freshly picked plum.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Ginny, who was following them back to Sirius' room, and she shrugged.

"I used up that bruise cream when he fell out of bed the other night. I wasn't going to take him to the hospital for a black eye, and I _certainly_ wasn't going to ask Mum for any. She'd fuss about it for weeks. It'll heal on its own."

Harry sighed. "Yes, I guess it will." He shook his head. "You need to be more careful, Sirius. You're going to really hurt yourself sometime."

"I didn't do it on _purpose_," Sirius huffed with all the righteous indignation a toddler could muster. "I _am_ more careful."

Harry had to laugh as he tucked Sirius into bed. "Goodnight, son. Go to sleep."

Ginny leaned over and kissed him as well. "Night, Sirius."

"Night, Dad. Night, Mummy."

Harry and Ginny went to their own room, his tea forgotten.

"I worry about him," Harry said as he took off his shirt.

Ginny was folding up her pants and didn't look up, but she sighed, "Me, too. I don't know how to make him understand that even magic doesn't make you indestructible."

Harry crawled into bed with relief shooting through every muscle. "Come get into bed. I could use a good cuddle right now."

Ginny did, curling her back up against his stomach and her gorgeous arse nestled snugly in the curve of his hips. "You had a hard day," she said sympathetically, and wiggled a little closer as he slid his arm over her and rested his head against hers. "I suppose if you don't want dinner . . ."

Harry laughed softly, and nibbled on her neck. "You'll do."

"Hey, you know that tickles," she squealed, writhing and possibly by accident grinding her butt against him.

"Which is erotic now, is it?" he teased, grinding his hips in response.

She playfully smacked the hand he cupped around her breast. "You're exhausted, remember?"

"Yes," he said regretfully, sliding his hand down and resting it on her stomach. "I'm already falling asleep."

"Oh, no wonder you're talking nonsense."

"It's not nonsense. You're beautiful and I would make love to you if I was on the verge of death."

Ginny quieted and suddenly went still. "You have. Our first time was the day you went to kill Voldemort."

Harry closed his eyes and tightened his grip on her. "I remember."

"This isn't going to be like that. Promise me, Harry. Promise me you'll stay safe this time."

"I can't promise you that."

"It doesn't have to be you," she whispered. "There's no stupid prophecy now. You don't have to."

Harry thought about that. Letting somebody else take care of Tyrell. Leaving the dirty work up to someone who hadn't already given so much. But was that how he really thought of himself? The one who'd given so much and deserved some rest? Maybe he'd become an Auror just because it was a sure thing, not because he wanted to protect people. Maybe he was just the cowardly and selfish boy he'd once been.

"Yes, Ginny," he whispered back. "I really do."


	13. Chapter 10: A Wild Creature Tamed

Chapter Ten

A Wild Creature Tamed

Drew limped up the hill, humming to himself pleasantly. Dusk was falling earlier every day, the moon rising quickly, and the weather was getting very cool. The bright light of the full moon spilled over the Hogwarts grounds to reveal the fallen leaves being scattered by the cold breeze that was stinging his nose. He had a red and gold scarf wrapped around his neck and hadn't thought once about what colour it was since putting it on. He'd spent a pleasant hour in Hogsmeade, time just to himself, and he was coming back with a hint of regret over leaving the cosy warmth of Rosmerta's place to grade essays in his cold classroom. He didn't really need to have them graded till the end of the week, and he entertained the idea of simply going to his room to read a book on a new Potions theory that he thought he should be informed on, whether it was valid or not.

As he passed by the greenhouses, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and was reminded of the significance of the brightness of tonight's moon. Ran was spending the night in the greenhouse, hopefully peacefully. Hagrid had been asked to keep an eye out on the place, mostly to ensure none of the other students tried to break in and bother the boy. Drew had been worried about the potion he'd watched Ran drink this afternoon. He'd never brewed Wolfsbane himself before. He'd seen it done, he'd read about it, never done it himself. Normally he didn't worry about doing it wrong. He was usually perfectly confident with knowing the instructions inside and out. But this was serious business, and it was a boy in his house that he was responsible for.

As a teacher, he knew the spell to enter the greenhouses when they were locked up and off-limits to the students. He glanced at Hagrid's hut and waved, on the chance that the half-giant was actually watching, before using the spell to enter. He felt a little wary as he started looking for Ran. He was a werewolf right now, not a boy. And he was betting his life on his own skill at Potions. He reasoned to himself that half-grown or not, Ran in werewolf form was not likely to be held at bay by the greenhouse walls if he were truly wild, and therefore must be safe.

Then Ran was suddenly there, ghosting out from underneath a table covered in potted plants that the students were obviously working with. Drew sucked in a surprised, hissing breath, and held perfectly still. He was bigger than Drew had expected, with shaggy brown fur and the tips of white teeth showing against dark wolfish lips on his long snout. It was obvious that he wasn't full-grown—his paws were big and ungainly, his legs too long and thin. But there was a lot of power in the furry four-legged creature approaching him. His golden eyes were eerily intelligent as he watched Drew. Drew remained unmoving as a sculpture while the werewolf sniffed around his feet, and up his legs. His hand clenched white-knuckled on the head of his cane. The creature pushed his muzzle into Drew's free hand, and Drew took in a few quivering breaths through his nose, his nostrils flaring out as he tried to stay silent. Then he felt something warm and wet against his palm, and he looked down with shock to see the werewolf licking his hand and gazing up at him with those too-human eyes.

Drew released a deep sigh, and his entire body relaxed. The Wolfsbane worked. Ran was in his right mind, despite his current form. He looked directly into his eyes, feeling strange for doing so, as he spoke.

"I wanted to check on you. I hope you're comfortable in here. We'll come back and let you out first thing in the morning, all right?"

He nodded, almost to himself, and turned to go. He was caught up short and nearly fell by a tug on the trailing end of his scarf. He looked back to see that Ran had caught the scarf in his teeth, and was holding it firmly.

"Is something wrong?" he asked hesitantly. _Oh, really, how would he answer you, anyway?_ he thought to himself, but waited to see if there would be an answer of some kind.

The werewolf Ran made a growling noise deep in his throat, causing Drew's heart to jump, but he only shook the end of the scarf he'd caught. He tugged on it, growling again, and looked up at Drew, his furry tail wagging.

"Oh, Merlin, Ran, you're not serious," he muttered.

Ran shook the scarf again, his eyes alight with playfulness.

Drew sighed, and unwound the scarf. _He must be so bored_. "Let me sit down, then," he said sternly. "You know you could pull me over if I don't." He found a chair and sat down, then proceeded to play tug-of-war with an adolescent werewolf and a Gryffindor knit scarf.

---Break---

An hour later, the wet and shredded scarf lay in an inglorious heap on the floor. Drew was laying on the ground with a good portion of his warm robes wrapped around his forearm, the rest dragging in the dirt, while he fended off Ran's attempts to bite him. Ran had so far only succeeded in gnawing the robes to a soggy mess. Ran ducked his head toward Drew's throat again, and Drew threw his arm up, giving the werewolf a mouthful of drool-soaked wool. He laughed, not caring that this was far from dignified and probably not altogether safe. He was wrestling with a werewolf for the sheer enjoyment of playing rather than working. Ran was obviously having fun, too. He'd scored a touch on Drew only once so far, carefully pulling his lips over his teeth before slipping his mouth onto the muscle of his professor's shoulder.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a bang.

"Stevens! 'Ere, get off 'im, ya brute!" Hagrid bellowed, rushing forward like he meant to remove the werewolf pup by bodily force.

"No, Hagrid!" Drew shouted. "It's all right! I'm fine!"

Hagrid stopped short, his huge furry eyebrows drawn close together and his frown well-hidden by the thicket of his beard. "What're you doin'?"

"We were . . . uh . . . well, we're playing," he said.

"Playin'?" Hagrid asked in disbelief.

"Well, he's bored, being cooped up in here all night," Drew said defensively, "so we were just, ah, having fun."

Hagrid puzzled over that for a moment, then suddenly grinned. "Yer all right, Stevens," he proclaimed. He held out a huge, beefy hand, which Drew clasped over a moment's hesitation, and hauled the much smaller man to his feet. "Good o' ye ter think abou' stuff like that." He clapped Drew on the back rather harder than was necessary, in Drew's opinion. "There's not many would be brave enough ter come in here."

He seemed not to have forgotten Drew's bad leg, for he was keeping a firm grip on him as if to keep him from falling. Ran had retrieved Drew's cane and was dropping it from his mouth onto Drew's feet, his tongue lolling out. Hagrid bent to retrieve it, offering Ran an affectionate pat on the head, which the creature ducked from with a look of offended dignity on his expressive face.

"Thanks, Hagrid," Drew said, taking a step away from the big man to show he was standing on his own. "I'd better get back inside now, I really need to get some work done and check on the rest of the students."

Ran suddenly wilted, his tail falling and his head hanging. Drew actually laughed aloud at the way a werewolf could pout, but it didn't escape him that Ran still had to spend the next seven or eight hours alone in here, and it was reportedly quite difficult for a werewolf to sleep, even under the effects of Wolfsbane. He felt a bit sorry for the creature.

"It's all right, Hagrid, I'll lock it up, you go on."

Hagrid did, looking inordinately pleased with the whole affair. Drew had to admit, that if werewolves could be entertaining, perhaps Hagrid's instincts were more correct than he'd ever believed—his affection for magical creatures might even have some merit.

"I do have classes to teach in the morning," he told the boy with a raised eyebrow, not letting the dejected pup sway him. "And you'll be back to normal in the morning yourself, I'll expect to see you in school." Ran snuffed, almost sneezing, with derision. "You've got another night of this to go, too, so you need to settle in a bit." Ran looked around the greenhouse and made a small whining noise, his tail falling for real this time. Drew almost gave in, but he really did have to play the adult for now. "You ought to get some rest just as much as the rest of the school, so do try. I've got to go make sure your classmates are in their beds." Ran padded forward and licked his hand again, and Drew found himself resting his hand on the soft head for a moment. "I'll come back to spend an hour or two with you tomorrow night, okay?" Ran began to wag his tail again hopefully. "You know, in the morning, you're going to be awfully embarrassed that you actually put your tongue on your professor," he teased.

Ran let out a sharp yipping noise that might have been a laugh, and nudged Drew toward the door. Drew stepped out and reset the spell to keep the door closed for the rest of the night, pausing for a moment to peer in and see that Ran was trotting obediently to the corner where Drew's scarf lay rejected to curl up for the night.

Minerva was taking her daily walk through the school on the arm of Fayne Forsythe, a Ravenclaw prefect whom she'd chosen to do this particular duty this year. Fayne was a quiet lad for the most part, but he took his role as Minerva's aide seriously, and kept up a constant stream of talk as they walked the castle and grounds. He reported anything that looked out of place, commented on how good a class was going or how well a greenhouse crop was growing, and speculated on the friendships and rivalries of the students they passed by.

"Looks like the Quidditch teams are getting well into shape," Fayne was saying cheerfully, "we're passing by the Slytherins coming back from practice just now."

"Afternoon, Headmistress," a husky voice called out, interrupting Fayne momentarily.

"Hello, Jackson. How is the team looking?" Minerva answered, knowing it to be the Ancient Runes professor's younger brother.

"Looking great, Headmistress, thank you," he replied politely, and the chattering group moved on. Minerva reflected briefly that Gregory Kilburne was really almost too young to have taken on the position he did; only twenty years old and already Head of a Hogwarts House. And yet speaking to him or his brother Jackson, still a seventh-year student, was enough to remind one that the Kilburne family was quite a good one. They had raised their boys to be responsible, respectable, and dutiful. Almost surprising that they were in Slytherin at all, but that wasn't quite fair to the House. The members it had produced recently were no reflection on hundreds of years of history.

"And there's Professor Stevens with one of the Gryffindor students," Fayne said, Minerva hardly realizing she'd missed what he'd been saying before. "Oh, it's that Edwards boy, the werewolf."

"Oh, good, wait a moment, Mr. Forsythe." She kept hold of his arm as he came to a stop, and she called out in what she hoped was the right direction, "Professor Stevens, Mr. Edwards, a word with you?"

The two approached, and Minerva knew it was them because young Edwards carried a very distinct smell. She wasn't at all sure that she didn't imagine it, no one else seemed to notice it, but it was a useful thing all the same.

"I trust the last few nights went by without incident," she spoke to the taller blob.

"They did, Headmistress," Stevens replied. She really ought to call him Drew, she knew that's what he wanted.

"I'm glad to hear that, Drew. Any concerns, either of you?"

There was a moment of pause that made her nervous, then Drew answered. "Nothing serious, Headmistress, but I would like to talk to you about a few ideas of mine for the future, when you have some time. Perhaps in your office?"

"Certainly. Anything wrong?"

"Oh, no, I just think Ran might enjoy being able to get out of the greenhouse to stretch his legs next time."

Minerva wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, but she nodded. "We'll discuss it. Mr. Edwards, what do you think?"

"I'd like that," the boy said, "but only if Professor Stevens is there."

"Course I would be," the teacher answered, and Minerva suddenly felt much better about the idea. The young man was settling in here, it seemed. And becoming fond of his students, too. Damn Dumbledore, with such good judgement even from beyond the grave.


	14. Letter 3

_Dear Tonks,_

_Greetings from home! I hope all is well with you and Remus, and with the Simpsons, of course. Let Hermione and Jonah know we can't wait to see them and the kids for Christmas. Matt seems to be enjoying his first year and making friends, so things appear to be getting back to normal—though with a definite improvement in Slytherin temperaments, I hear._

_Well, I suspect you know I have a reason for writing, as I usually let Ginny send along the news. I'll get to the point. We've got problems over here, and I want your input. So many Aurors died in the war, and the new recruits just don't seem to understand Dark matters like you do—it's like a game to them; they never had to deal with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Let me fill you in on what's happened: a mystery murder popped up, and Shacklebolt had Dan Waverly and I investigate. The victim was a Dark wizard by the name of Rodney Tyrell, one who stayed under the radar and never joined Voldemort. The culprit is his son, a 19-year-old boy by the name of Thomas Tyrell who apparently overheard some things about Voldemort as a child that I'd rather he never found out. He's gone missing, but we searched his bedroom and he was educated thoroughly in Dark Arts and we found his journal, in which he admits to killing his father. He states that this murder is practice; he seems to think he can become like Voldemort through ritual killing._

_We haven't found him, and another murder victim turned up yesterday. It looks to be another ritual killing by Tyrell, since it was a childhood enemy of his (the heir of a rival Dark family) and it was definitely done with the Avada Kedavra, our old friend. I'm getting concerned. This boy is intelligent and keeping a very low profile. We haven't been able to turn up any information, not even through our less-than-savory contacts. Based on his journal, he's seeking information, and my most overwhelming concern is that he's going to turn up at Hogwarts looking for it. I could easily imagine him hurting students to force the professors into giving him information or access to the library. I've alerted McGonagall. She tells me not to worry. I'm concerned that many of the professors are getting on in years, and I want her to allow Auror patrols, but she thinks it's unnecessary at this point. She says her four Heads of Houses are all quite young and fit, and Smith and Stevens have both seen combat. I have to trust Zacharias, I fought alongside him a few years ago, and Stevens was involved in the first stage of the werewolf problem you're dealing with over there. I simply don't think it's enough. I just don't know how many Aurors we can really spare—it's still a fairly undesirable position, given the death rate ten years ago, so we're going to be shorthanded if I send them to Hogwarts and put everyone else into tracking Tyrell down. Not that it's my decision. Kingsley is willing to accept McGonagall's judgement for now._

_You may have guessed what I want by now, so I'll be clear. I want you. You and Remus, back in Britain, protecting Hogwarts. It's not just that my son is there, it's all those kids. They're still trying to rebuild the school, which holds such a large place in my heart, and they can't afford anything to go wrong now. And none of us want to see children in danger again. Based on the news I've been reading, things have settled down in Canada for the most part. Remus may still be a valuable diplomat, but they don't need fighters like you, and they could live without him. I think a lot of us would rest easier knowing there were people as trusted as you two keeping Hogwarts safe. I don't think even McGonagall would object to having you there. I won't say anything more about it, I promise, if you'll promise to think about it and talk to Remus about it._

_While you're there, though . . . Smith has made me uneasy about Stevens, the new American professor who's become Matt's Head of House. His background wasn't adding up, and when confronted about it, he said that he's been using a false identity provided by the American wizarding government the last few years, and gave them a true identity that does check out. Smith thinks it's too rational an explanation. Stevens was supposedly working for the government as one of several teams sent up to Canada to simply exterminate the more vicious and inhuman werewolf packs that were purposefully going after people when transformed. They were supposed to be off the record, and therefore unverifiable. From all I've heard, Stevens is doing a wonderful job at the school, but this does put me on my guard. Have you heard about these operations? Did teams like Stevens' actually work up there? Has this been going on since you've been there? Is there any way you can think of to get hold of Stevens' military record?_

_Listen, Tonks, I know I'm asking a lot of you, and I'm sorry. This entire investigation on Thomas Tyrell has been my responsibility, and my worry about Hogwarts and the students has been keeping me up at night (and therefore Ginny, who is extremely grumpy when she doesn't get enough sleep). I shouldn't lay all of this on you when you've got work to do already, but I don't know who else to go to. When did my world change so much, and how did I miss it happening? That makes me sound like an old man, I guess, but I've started to feel like one. Well, talk to Remus and get back to me when you can. Feel free to firecall me if you want to talk, I'll likely be at the office. If nothing else, we'll see you at Christmas._

_Love from the family,_

_Harry_


	15. Chapter 11: Security Measures

Chapter Eleven

Security Measures

Drew sat at his desk, judging colour and thickness on small sample bottles of the potion his fifth-year class had been brewing. The sludgy, gray mess in the bottle in his hand was going to receive fairly poor marks. This particular potion should be reddish-purple, not gray, not to mention more like thick broth than freshly mixed cement. He wondered for a moment if the student had somehow managed to create cement out of potions ingredients, then remember that it was only necessary to add the faery blood too early to acheive this unappetizing result. A mistake easily made, but since this potion was meant to slow bleeding and the mistake would probably end with the victim bleeding out all the faster, the hapless student would receive a very poor mark indeed.

There was a scratching at his window, and he looked up with his heart in his throat. An owl raised its leg and clawed at the window again. He tried to calm down, berating himself for getting so unnerved. Just because he hadn't received a message by owl for so long . . . He went and opened the window, allowing the muddy brown bird inside. The creature looked bedraggled and exhausted. He took the note and fed the owl the remains of a mouse from a pile he'd been taking the ears and tails from. It gave him a feeble hoot of thanks, and made no move to leave, digging into the tiny carcass right there on the window ledge. Taking pity on the thing, he shrugged and closed the window. He'd take it up to the Owlery later.

He unrolled the paper, and was surprised enough by the signature on the bottom that it took him a moment to start reading. It was a message from Tuck. He took the note back to his desk and sat down while he read. Tuck was dubious about the idea of using an owl to send a letter, but Pauley said it would work. Tuck was a bit skeptical about Pauley's relative experience and skill in this whole wizarding business to begin with, but he did hope Drew would get the damn thing. The point was this: someone had been digging into Drew's falsified background again. Somebody there in America. He'd set up something on the computer (Drew was completely useless with such things, and didn't bother trying to read the explanation of what he'd done, only the result) to track if anybody else tried to get into Peter Putnam's medical records. Someone had done so, and tracing the IP address (Drew was smart enough to imagine that it was some kind of computer address for finding where a computer lived) led him just over the border, in Canada. Tuck warned him to be careful, wished him well, and added a postscript from Bonnie asking when she'd see him again. That made him smile. Tuck and Lisa's daughter was nine and found him interesting and exciting in that mysterious, dangerous way that it seemed girls of all ages were infected with. Scars often did what his looks and charm used to, back when he had them. Not that he took advantage of it all that often, but he thought Bonnie was an adorable child and held a certain amount of affection for her.

Drew set the letter aside and thought. It didn't take him too long to reach the conclusion. Harry Potter had set one of his friends to work. Likely Drew's cousin Nymphadora, he'd heard she was in Canada, married to that werewolf. Drew was uneasy about it, but only slightly. His cousin would have had a Muggle check it for her, and all the information she'd be able to turn up would fit with his story. Even better, living there and having firsthand experience, she would confirm that there were indeed special operations teams sent by American wizarding government to help out their northern neighbors a few years ago. That part of the story, while not strictly _his_, was true enough. He'd heard about it from a young wizard in the same long-term physical therapy clinic Drew visited during his first months in New York. He thought he'd be safe enough, unless Nymphadora went so far as to visit that school and look for pictures of the real Peter Putnam to compare with a picture of Drew—which didn't exist, he wouldn't allow any photographs of him as he was now, and which his cousin wasn't likely to do, anyway. No, he'd be all right.

He got up and gave the owl another mouse to munch on, stroking its head a bit and murmuring sympathetically about having to travel so far, then went back to inspecting the potion samples. Only four more to do, then to check on his Gryffindors before bed. He wanted everybody well-rested. Their first Quidditch match was tomorrow, and his team had been walking around very keyed-up for at least three days. It was starting to make everyone tense. Quidditch was fun, but it was a lot of work, too. Roman Vestrit was probably scouring the school for his teammates and herding them off to bed right now.

Gregory Kilburne stuck his head into the room after a perfunctory knock. "Drew."

"Greg."

"Have you seen Smith tonight?"

"Ah, yes, I did. He was in a meeting with McGonagall."

Greg rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway with a certain lazy confidence. It was in moments like this that Drew thought it was a bad idea to have twenty-year-old professors. Of course, most of the time, Greg had a reserved sense of maturity that made him seem much older, but he usually dropped it around Drew, who was really not so much older than he. Not that he shared this ease with Zacharias, whom he quietly and privately disliked without letting any of the students see it. It all went back to some kind of conflict in the classroom when Smith had taken over the Defense position, while Greg was still in school.

"You'd _think_," Greg said with a hint of impatience, "that if he was going to have a meeting about security tomorrow, he'd want to have the other professors in on it."

Drew smiled absentmindedly, squinting at a new bottle of potion. He couldn't tell if this was had enough purple in it, and therefore enough flytrap juice. "Working things out and then informing everyone what they're to do is more his style," he said, not caring much. Smith was Smith, and he was going to be referee tomorrow instead of perimeter guard, anyway. "He's Deputy Headmaster, after all."

Greg nodded unhappily. "And don't you forget it," he said dryly.

Drew was not about to just listen to Greg feel sorry for himself. Greg was usually an interesting and pleasant enough person. Besides, as much as he'd managed to live with having only one eye, it was getting dark in here and he could use the second opinion.

"Here, take a look at this. Do you think it's purple enough?"

---Break---

Matt and Basil regarded each other for a moment when they met at breakfast, before exchanging greetings with their usual ease. Still, they sat at their own house tables this morning. Normally one of the two of them would drift over to sit with the other's house, but not today. Today, the houses were inviolate. Today, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were kicking off the Quidditch season. It was a nice, warm day, too, though clouds gathering on the horizon promised rain by the time the match began. Neither of them could feel quite comfortable with the other's team today.

Matt found himself grumpily missing his best friend's company as he ate and tried to keep Bear calm. Basil's good humour always made Bear cheerful, but today she was as surly and growly as . . . well, as a bear. Kerry didn't suffer from that problem. In fact, the problem he was suffering from made Matt want to punch him. He was swaggering around and mouthing off about how well he'd do. Everyone knew that Oliver Wood played on a very minor Quidditch team, but Kerry seemed to think he'd inherited the kind of talent from his father that would have him on the national team before he was out of school.

Matt looked over at the Ravenclaw table and found Basil and Milton looking over the morning paper with serious expressions. Matt guessed it had to do with that Dark wizard his Dad couldn't seem to find. He'd killed two people, and another young man from a Dark family had gone missing, Dad thought probably to join Thomas Tyrell. Things were looking serious. Even Hogwarts was experiencing some of the repercussions. Headmistress McGonagall had decreed that students were not to leave their House common rooms after seven o'clock and they could not venture beyond the greenhouses without being accompanied by a teacher. Basil looked over his shoulder at him and caught his eye. Milton nudged him and nodded to the slightly hostile Ravenclaw students who were discussing loudly the possible outcomes of today's match—all of which scenarios seemed to end with Seeker Adam Han overcoming the rather superior skills of Roman Vestrit and grabbing the Snitch right from under his nose to end the game dashingly and by a large margin. Basil rolled his eyes. He and Matt turned back to their breakfasts, decided with perfect innocence that they were through at the same moment, and left their respective tables simultaneously—by mere coincidence, of course.

They met up just outside the Great Hall. Basil was carrying his newspaper.

"They're mad, all of them," he said cheerfully, then held up his paper with a slightly more sober expression. "Have you seen—"

"Yeah, I did," Matt answered before he'd finished asking.

Milton caught them up just then, not much wanting to stay at the table without Basil's company. Most of his fellow students regarded him with pity and a grudging amount of respect for his efforts, without the added benefit of actual friendship. Being so magically untalented had many downsides, no matter how hard Milt worked to get past them. He raised his eyebrows quizzically at Matt.

"My dad's worried," Matt went on. "This Tyrell guy is very good at staying hidden, I guess. He wrote to me about it yesterday. Because he's asked my Uncle Remus and Aunt Tonks to come back here to help. He mostly wants them to keep an eye on us, he said, but he said not to be too worried about it for now. There's tons of adults here to keep us safe, and not much at Hogwarts that Tyrell could want anyway."

"Why would he want _anything_ at Hogwarts?" Milt asked. "I mean, it's just a school."

Matt shrugged. "Dad didn't say."

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Basil said, tossing out the paper as they passed by a bin on their way outside. "According the _Prophet_, Tyrell is interested in Voldemort."

"So?"

"So he went to school here. And there's people at Hogwarts that were involved in the war, who might know something about him, the Headmistress and Professor Smith, and Hagrid, maybe Professor Flitwick. If Tyrell came here, he'd want information. Sounds like your dad would just as soon he not get any."

Matt nodded. "That makes sense."

"Still," Milt added, "if he was going to go anywhere for information, it would probably _be_ your dad, Matt. I mean, he probably knows a lot more than anyone else."

Matt frowned, suddenly feeling a little sick. "Oh. I didn't think of that. What if he . . ."

Milt looked upset for saying anything. "I don't wish anything bad on your family, really. Your mother was great to me when she was getting me out of trouble for Mr. Keaton's dog. But it makes sense."

"Yeah, but he wouldn't do that," Basil objected, nudging Matt with an elbow. "Come _on_. Who would try to go after Harry Potter, the man who killed Lord Voldemort? They'd have to be completely off their rocker."

Matt smiled weakly. "Yeah. A real nutter."

None of them mentioned the fact that Thomas Tyrell was mad as a hatter and homicidal to boot. Harry Potter might be a good wizard and more than commonly experienced in fighting Dark magic, but a boy couldn't help worrying about his dad.

--Break---

No insane Dark wizards showed up during the Quidditch match, and the rainclouds were even polite enough to hold off. Ravenclaw's Chasers were better than Gryffindor's, but Kerry and Bear held their own admirably against Jarvis and Mann, who were best friends and fourth years with two years of experience as Beaters for Ravenclaw. Roman's quicker reflexes proved the deciding factor, however, and Han definitely did not take the Snitch out from under Roman's nose. Still, Ravenclaw only lost by seventy points, so it was a good game.

Matt, Basil, and Milt took a long and unnecessary route back to the school so they could talk about the match without being harassed by any sore losers among the Ravenclaws or poor winners among the Gryffindors. Basil and Milt conceded it as a deserved win in exchange for Matt admitting that Faith Forsythe _was_ a better Chaser than the Gryffindor trio, even if Madeleine was more fun and even if Pierce and Lana were really evenly matched against Worthey and Lambert.

All in all, they were in good spirits as they stepped around a corner, feeling guilty for being so far from help should Tyrell by some remote chance actually show up here. Then they all three stopped dead and went silent, right after Milt blurted out, "Oh, Jesus Christ!"

They beat a hasty retreat back around the corner with the image of Morgan Mann shoving Douglas Jarvis up against a wall and trying to catch the taste of his larynx burned into their brains. The Ravenclaw Beaters did not notice them and carried on with what they were doing.

"What's Jesus Christ?" Basil asked in a rather breathless voice.

Milt stared at him for a minute, then smiled. "You mean I actually know something you don't for a change?"

"Yes," Basil said grumpily.

"My mum would kill me if she heard me say that," Milt admitted. "It's religious. Mum's always dragged me to church."

"Oh, church," Basil said, sounding more comfortable.

"What do you know about church?"

"My dad says some churches are a place of power, depending on the parishioners. Reminds me of what they always say about Dumbledore, actually. Belief in the power of love."

"Speaking of love," Matt said, grimacing.

They all three broke up into sort of giggling laughter.

"They'd probably be in trouble if anyone knew they were alone like that, so far from help," Matt said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but can you imagine Professor Smith going to find them?" Basil laughed.

"I'll tell Professor Stevens," Matt shrugged. "He probably won't mind so much."


	16. Chapter 12: Homecoming

Chapter Twelve

Homecoming

"Hey, Matt!" she called out, waving as she stepped out of the carriage at the front entrance.

"Tonks!" Matt cried out gladly, and ran forward into her welcoming arms. Matt was a reserved boy, but he'd never forgotten how she'd carried him from his burning home with her hand over his eyes. She ruffled his hair and exclaimed over his height as she embraced him, saying he'd grown inches since she'd seen him last Christmas.

Matt finally straightened up, and looked up at Remus Lupin, who was smiling at the two of them. "Hello, Uncle Remy," he said.

"How are you, Matt?" he asked warmly, holding out his hand. Matt ignored the hand and moved past it to hug him, too. Uncle Remus had spent too many years as a werewolf and had gotten too used to avoiding physical contact as a part of his lifestyle. He'd claimed last Christmas that he got enough hugs, joking punches, and so on when he was around "family" to make up for a lifetime. And he was indeed part of Matt's family now. Matt had a huge adopted family, a group of people completely unrelated but brought so close by the war that those bonds would never be broken. Matt had spent last Christmas with not only the Lupins but Hagrid and Luna Lovegood, editor of _The Quibbler_. Normally it would have been Grandma and Grandpa Weasley, too, but they'd gone to France to visit his Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur. Aunt Hermione and her husband and their kids had stayed in Canada to spend Christmas with his family. This year, they were planning on having _everyone_, which was really a staggering number.

However one chose to define family, Matt was glad to see the Lupins, and secretly glad to see them now. He was getting worried about the Dark wizard Tyrell. He still wrote letters home every week, asking about the situation, but the only communication he was getting back was reading the statements Dad gave to _The Daily Prophet_. Tyrell was still at large. He almost certainly had friends. They had no clue where to begin looking for him. A third person had died, but they were no closer to stopping it than they were after the boy had killed his father Rodney. He hoped having Uncle Remy and Aunt Tonks here would help. They had experience, lots of it.

Matt saw Ran Edwards walking with a third-year student named Simon Crupp. Simon was one of the few people who didn't believe Ran was going to tear him to shreds any minute, and he didn't mind talking about Quidditch. Matt caught Ran's eye and waved his hand. Ran frowned, looked at the arriving guests, and his eyes widened. Matt had told him when the plans had been confirmed, but they hadn't been expected until tomorrow. Ran gave Simon a hurried and unintelligible apology and dashed over, grinning. Well, loped over, Matt thought. He really did move with something—a set to his shoulders, a certain gracefulness—that other boys didn't.

Obviously Uncle Remus noticed it, too, because he was smiling and holding out his hand. "You must be Randolph Edwards. Matt's told us so much about you."

"Please call me Ran," the boy replied, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "I'm so glad to finally meet you."

Uncle Remus chuckled softly as he took his hand back. "Matt must have forgotten to mention that I'm actually very boring," he said dryly, but he winked at his wife so obviously that Ran just laughed.

"Are you kidding, sir? You're a war hero!"

Uncle Remus had gotten a serious look, and Matt rolled his eyes. "I do a lot less spellwork and a lot more talking, these days. Canada has gotten far behind us as regards werewolf rights."

"But you're improving it, aren't you?" Ran asked earnestly.

Remus smiled a little. "I credit Hermione with that more than myself. She's tireless."

"That's Ambassador Granger-Simpson, right? The one that helped Harry Potter kill Voldemort."

"It is indeed."

"Matt," Ran said, turning to him suddenly, "you know the _coolest_ people."

They all laughed.

"Well, you change your last name to Potter, and see what happens," said another voice, jovially. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin."

Professor Smith was striding forward from the school, a bright smile on his face, his perfect blond hair seemingly armoured against the effects of the chilly early November breeze. Headmistress McGonagall followed more sedately, on the arm of her aide Fayne Forsythe. He shook hands with the Lupins, joking in his usual sort of pompous way.

"Now, it's no good trying to butter the Headmistress up, I've got the job fair and square," he chuckled. Uncles Remus chuckled back obligingly, but Matt could tell that he didn't really like Professor Smith. Well, Matt thought to himself, nobody really _liked_ Professor Smith. He was a good professor and all, but he was just so . . . well, when he'd assigned them all lines for a round of poor marks on _another_ essay, Milt had asked him what crawled up his butt and died. He'd gotten detention, of course, but it was a pretty good diagnosis of the man's problem, Matt thought.

Then the Headmistress was there, and she surprised all of them by breaking her usual severe demeanor by reaching out and pulling the Lupins into a warm embrace. "It's good to have you back," she said with perfect sincerity. "I'm still not ready to admit we need the extra protection here, but I've been feeling very nostalgic. It's almost like having the Order back together."

There was a brief moment where all the adults went silent and still. Ran looked confused, but Matt knew a lot more about the Order of the Phoenix than Ran did, so he understood. The Order would never be back together. Many of them were dead, including the young ones who'd only been inducted when the war started. Sirius Black had gone, then of course there had been Albus Dumbledore, which had been devastating. After that, it went in waves. Alastor Moody had been a huge loss, but the heartbreaking losses were the youngest. The Weasley boys, Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom . . . Dennis Creevey had only been sixteen. None of them liked to think of some of the people that they had fought against, either. Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, and Millicent Bulstrode might have been stupid and on the wrong side, but they too had been very young.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" the Headmistress was saying to the Lupins. "Your things will be taken to the room I've had made up for you."

"You look a bit wrung out," Professor Smith added. "I'm sure you'd like some tea and a few minutes to rest before we discuss anything."

The adults headed into the castle, and Matt headed off to find Basil so they could work on their homework. He'd have plenty of time to see the Lupins later, after all. He wanted Basil and Bear and Milt to meet them, when they had time.

---Break---

Tonks—for so she still thought of herself and insisted everyone call her (well, she couldn't very well go by "Lupin" now, could she?)—rolled her eyes at McGonagall's question. They never gave up, did they? She and Remus had talked about it. He didn't really want kids, and she didn't really want to give him any, but that didn't seem to be an acceptable answer. She gave another answer that was almost as honest and seemed a lot more convincing.

"We _have_ kids, in a way," she said, trying to make her voice sound earnest despite how repetitive the question had gotten. "We've got Maggie and little Jean-Luc back home, and then there's Matt and Sirius and Charlotte, and of course Georges and Rose when Bill and Fleur visit . . . there's a lot of kids running around, and between them and all our work, we don't miss having kids of our own. It's just that much more that we can give to the rest of the family."

McGonagall could no longer read facial expressions, which pained Tonks, but she could certainly read the agitated tone in her voice, and she dropped it. The meeting was breaking up, and McGonagall headed off to catch Gregory Kilburne before he left. Tonks thought she liked the young and sober Kilburne, who was chatting with Drew Stevens about something. Now Stevens . . . Tonks headed over to talk to him as McGonagall interrupted his talk with Kilburne. She had a few things she wanted to say.

"Mrs. Lupin," he said guardedly as she approached. "What can I do for you?"

"You may know already that you've got a few people concerned about your background, Professor Stevens," she said, keeping her tone light.

His face remained closed, but not guilty. "I see they've made you aware of it," he said in an almost lazy tone.

There was something so disturbingly _familiar_ about the man, Tonks thought, and it was driving her mad. She must have run across him back when they'd first moved. "I don't really _do_ all this secretive stuff," she said plainly. "Harry asked me to check into it."

"That's understandable."

"I'm not questioning your story, it does check out, it just makes me wonder why on earth you decided to come over here and become a teacher."

His smile was wry. "I don't seem the type, do I? I'll be honest with you, since you've been so honest with me. I never liked what I was doing. When you're young, and you hear the speeches and meet all those impressive people, it sounds grand and glorious. Then you start actually pointing a wand at people and all your fantasies go up in smoke." He shook his head, and Tonks knew he couldn't be faking the pain in his eyes. "I got as far away as I could when it was over. I needed some time to recover, after what I'd done. And then, I found that I wanted to do something . . . well, as clichéd as it sounds, I wanted to do something worthwhile." He smiled again, and it was a little more genuine. "Imagine my surprise when I realized I'm a decent teacher and I'm enjoying this. I even like kids."

Tonks found herself smiling back, and thinking about what this man had been asked to do. She'd most seen the aftereffects of that work, but she'd been involved in a couple of raids herself, back when they first arrived. Her husband had been enraged by the whole thing, and she still had nightmares. She understood why Stevens needed distance, and maybe even why being surrounded by kids felt so good. These kids, at least, weren't being asked to fight. At least not yet. And, please God, this new threat would be stopped before it got that far.

"Kids have a way of changing your perspective on things," she agreed after a minute. She'd observed Stevens with that Ran Edwards earlier. It looked like she wasn't the only one adopting other people's kids as replacements for her own. Although Stevens was certainly taking on a lot more responsibility than Tonks did with the kids in her life. After all, she could send them back home when they got too annoying.

Still, despite that nagging sensation that she'd met Stevens before, she found herself trusting the man. She didn't think they needed to give him any more grief. He was, if nothing else, on their side.


	17. Chapter 13: Fair and Unfair

Chapter Thirteen

Fair and Unfair

Matt sat with Bear and Basil in the library, whispering as low as they could so Madam Pince wouldn't come scold them. They appeared to be doing their homework, and indeed they had been, but now they were talking about the latest news from the _Prophet_ about Tyrell. Bear had been disgruntled about doing homework, but she'd settled down into seriousness when the subject came up. Matt didn't want to admit how worried he was, but Basil was very observant and Bear was very tenacious.

"It's just not fair," Matt whispered, ducking his head over his Charms notes when Madam Pince glided by. He peeked up through a fringe of shaggy hair that he hadn't cut since coming to school. "I mean, Dad's still trying to catch the last Death Eater from last time. It doesn't seem right that he's got to go find new ones."

Basil shrugged. "It's not like Voldemort was the only Dark wizard. The Dark Arts still exist, or we wouldn't have to take Professor Smith's class."

"Wouldn't _that_ be nice," Bear muttered, but Basil ignored her.

"Your dad knows that. He decided to be an Auror, and that's his job."

"I don't think he likes it, though," Matt said, suddenly feeling unable to meet his friends' eyes. He felt like he was spilling a dark secret. "I think he just thinks he _should_."

Bear frowned. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would he think that?"

Matt played with his quill, still not looking up. "You know, like with Voldemort. He was supposed to fight him."

"You mean like destiny or something?"

"Yeah. Like that."

"That still doesn't make sense. I thought it was only Voldemort that he had to fight against."

"It _was_ only Voldemort." Matt decided not to tell them that he'd picked most of this up from hearing his parents argue when he was supposed to be asleep. "Dad just thinks he has to save everybody all the time."

"Yeah, but why him?" Bear objected, unknowingly echoing the heart's cry of Harry Potter's wife and his adopted son. Basil was, for some reason, silent.

Matt dropped his head even lower. "He's good at it," he whispered. "Other people are scared of that stuff, but he knows what to do." He suddenly looked at his friends. "I hate it. Everyone always thinks it should be him. They never ask somebody else to help. Mum said they always ask him because they know he'll never say no."

"It's still his decision," Basil spoke up softly. His usual easygoing manner had vanished. "Matt, your dad isn't stupid."

"I know that," Matt said impatiently. "But that's why I'm so glad that Uncle Remus and Aunt Tonks are here. At least he has somebody to help him now. Usually he's alone, and that's not fair."

Neither of them had anything to say to that. Matt was feeling emboldened by the lack of catastrophe so far.

"I want to help, too. I wish I could go help him look for that guy or something. I could do something. The Aurors are all looking, but I bet I could help."

Basil frowned at him. "Matt, don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't even know where to begin. I get it, that you want to help your dad, but it's dangerous. You don't even know how to defend yourself if you go out there. These people are murderers, Matt."

"Besides, it's stupid," Bear added. "You're just a kid. What are you going to do that they aren't doing already?"

"I don't know," Matt snapped at them, annoyed that they would be so understanding about everything but his desire to help.

"How did your dad get Voldemort, anyway?" Basil asked. "How come he couldn't do that again?"

"I don't know what he did," Matt admitted. "Him and Aunt Hermione don't ever talk about it. People have asked them a million times, but they never tell. I asked Dad why not. He said it was just safer that way. What if Tyrell found out how to become as powerful as Voldemort. He's only killed a few people. Voldemort killed a lot more, and it took a lot of work to stop him."

Basil nodded thoughtfully. "Your dad is really smart."

Matt nodded back, his face sober. "I know. I just don't think being smart is enough when you have to fight other smart people."

Albus Dumbledore could have told them that. But Albus Dumbledore had died to teach that lesson. The three kids didn't know that it was Albus Dumbledore who'd warned Harry of the consequences of revealing the information Harry kept hidden.

---Break---

"I never thought you were paranoid, that's all," she said.

Harry felt himself flinch, and tried to rein in his anger. Her tone said that wasn't "all." And it wasn't paranoia talking, it was experience. He'd been here before, and he was taking measures to head this situation off before he ended up in another war.

"Remus and Tonks were perfectly happy where they were. It's not fair to ask them to give up their lives just because you're irrationally worried."

Harry lost his tight check on his anger. "Ginny, don't you dare," he warned, finally turning around to face her. "Don't call me irrational. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, well, enlighten me, oh Wise One," she snipped. Her eyes were blazing. Harry once again tried to pull his emotions back under control.

"Please don't be like that. I don't want to fight."

"Who's fighting?" Ginny returned, and he felt something in him sigh with weariness. "I would just like you to explain yourself."

Harry held out his hands in a gesture of defeat. "I don't think I'm being paranoid to take precautions. I want to prevent a repeat of the war, not come into the middle of one. I'm seeing some of the same things I saw last time. There's a lot about last time that you didn't see, Ginny. A lot of things that I was up against, and you weren't there for those."

"Whose fault was that?" Ginny snarled, and her face was furious. She'd never forgiven him for pushing her away when he'd left school. She'd wanted to help, she'd wanted to fight, and she hadn't appreciated his chauvinistic protective instinct. Harry thought, though he didn't know for sure, that she was even angry that she hadn't been with her brothers when they'd died. He suspected she thought she would have been the deciding factor that kept them alive, if they'd thought to include. He did admit that Ginny knew how to fight, he'd never denied that—but how could she resent and accuse him, when all he'd wanted was to keep her from having to fight like that? It was ugly, and he didn't want his girlfriend, his fiancee, his _wife_, involved in this stuff. "Harry, if you want me to understand this, you have to explain it. What are you so afraid of?"

"You know I'm not going to tell you," he sighed. "Not anymore than I was going to tell you last time you asked, or the time before that. That information is dangerous. You knowing it puts you at risk. There are people who would do anything for it. And 'anything' is a terrifying thought to me. You're my wife, and I won't that happen to you. I wish Hermione didn't know it, either. I wish it was just me in danger because of it."

Ginny cried when she was angry, but Harry wasn't entirely sure that the tears now rolling down her cheeks were from anger. "Why you, even?" she squeezed out. "Why do you still have to be the savior, Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes and turned away again. "I don't know," he said hollowly. It seemed like a cop-out answer, but it was completely true. He had no idea what cosmic force had picked him for this, and he didn't want it. But he had it, and he'd dealt with that a long time ago. Ginny couldn't seem to. And it wore him down, dragged his spirits down, to have to rehash it so often. "It just is me, Sunshine. I can't help that, so I have to accept it."

"_I don't want you to accept it!_" she screamed. "Why won't you just admit it's not fair? Why do you keep it to yourself all the time? I'm your _wife_, Harry, and I want you to _share_ yourself with me! I want to know your feelings! I have the right to that! I'm not here just to make babies for you!"

"I know that!" he snapped. "Why won't you get it through your head that I'm protecting you? I'm not doing this just to piss you off, I—"

"Are you even listening? That's not what I'm talking—Sirius, what are you doing out of bed?"

Sirius stood in the doorway with wide eyes and his arm clutched around a stuffed dragon that Charlie had given him. "I can't go to sleep," he said in an uncertain voice. "It's really loud."

"We're sorry, baby," Ginny said. "We'll be quiet so you can sleep, okay?"

Sirius didn't move. He looked at Harry. "Are you mad at Mum?"

Harry knelt down on the floor and let Sirius dash into his arms. "I am a little bit," he said. "And Mum's a little bit mad at me, too. But it's okay, because we just need to talk. We'll feel better soon."

Ginny snorted, and Harry gave her a glare over the top of Crash's head. "That's right," she added. "Once we get finished talking."

Harry knew they had very different ideas on when they'd be finished talking, but he wasn't about to let her wear him down. He'd made the right decision in the amount of information he kept to himself, and Ginny being his wife didn't change that. If anything, it made his resolution stronger. It gave him that much more reason to keep her safe. He wondered, not for the first time, if Hermione had gone to Canada to be away from him. Her burden of knowledge had been as great as his, and it was always weighing on them when they were together. Harry even thought she might resent him for being alive when Ron was dead. Well, that he understood. He sometimes resented himself for that. That he'd allowed his two friends to come with him, let them make the choice to put themselves in danger. He could have refused. He could have pushed them away like he did with Ginny. But he wasn't entirely sure he could deal with three people feeling this angry with him. He wasn't always able to deal with just Ginny.

Sirius was pulling off his glasses. He always pulled silly antics when he was worried or upset, and now he put on Harry's glasses, giggling while they slid down his nose and nearly fell off. He pushed them back up and held them in place.

"Everything looks funny," he said. "You look funny," he informed his father.

Harry smiled indulgently. "I bet I'm all blurry."

"What's blurry?" Crash wondered, but tilted his head, looking around the room. He looked at his mother, and stopped giggling. "Mum, how come you're crying?"

Harry got a very queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Crash, didn't you see her crying when you came in?"

"No," he said without concern.

Harry caught his breath. He pointed across the kitchen to the note he'd left on the bulletin board to let Ginny know he wouldn't be home for dinner. "Can you see the letters on that?" he asked. Crash couldn't read yet, but he knew his alphabet.

He nodded agreeably. "I-H-A-V-E-T-O-W-O-R-K," he began, then Harry pulled the glasses off.

"Can you see the letters now?"

The little boy shook his head. "Did you make them disappear with magic?" he asked curiously, looking for evidence of Harry's wand.

"No," Harry said, and he put his glasses back on to look at Ginny. She met his gaze with a shocked look. He patted his son's head and held onto him, feeling unbelievably stupid for never thinking of this before. "Don't worry, though. You're going to be able to see a lot of things soon."


	18. Letter 4

_Dear Charlie,_

_It's your sister again. You must be getting sick of my letters by now, but keep in mind that you did ask me to keep you updated on what's going on around here. I guess you know already that Bill and Fleur have decided not to come for Christmas this year. I know it's just Fleur wanting to keep Georges and Rose safe, but I can't say I understand why Bill is letting her push him around and keep him away from the family. I hardly ever see my own nephew and niece! I hope you'll be here, though. I've never known you to let a little danger stop you, after all. You and Harry. My husband is, as usual, right in the middle of it._

_The investigation doesn't seem to be going well. Harry's rarely home anymore; he's always talking to people who think they might know something or snooping around Knockturn Alley. Sometimes he's investigating another crime scene. They haven't made any progress toward finding Tyrell's hideout, and it seems that he may have a couple of goons now. I refuse to admit it to Harry because I don't want to fuel his paranoia, but I'm getting worried. This kid worships Voldemort's memory, and I'm afraid he thinks he's got some kind of destiny to start an epic clash with Harry or something. I'm just tired of this, you know? I thought we were all finished with this kind of thing. And now we've got another possible dark lord gathering up followers. I'm worried about Mum and Dad, too. You know they're getting on in years. They think that staying in the Burrow is keeping them out of the way, but who knows how Tyrell thinks? Maybe he'll decide they're valuable for some reason, with their connections to the Order. I haven't mentioned it to Harry yet, but I'm sure he'd agree with me that they should come back to London and stay with us for awhile. I think Sirius and Charlotte are missing their dad, and having Grandma and Grandpa around might help._

_Speaking of Sirius—you'll be surprised by the change in him when you see him! We finally realized why he's so klutzy. It's almost laughable, considering how much he looks (and acts) like his dad. He just got his first pair of specs. He's been running around just __looking__ at everything, and he's amazed by how bright and detailed it all is. He doesn't run into everything quite so much anymore, but we're thinking he'd better get used to his glasses before we let him on a broom. He's been begging, but I don't think he's fully cured of his clumsiness yet._

_Well, I'd better end here. Charlotte ought to be waking up from her nap any minute. Did you ever picture me saying something like that? I sure didn't think it would come for a while longer. Anyway, I hope you're well. Let me know how everything is over there._

_Love from your sister,_

_Ginny_


	19. Chapter 14: Battle Formations

Chapter Fourteen

Battle Formations

Roman Vestrit threw a curse at Alicia Ponder, a seventh year in Gryffindor House. She deflected it, and it bounced off to strike Poppy Lambert, Hufflepuff's Quidditch Captain. She gasped and fell back, though the power of the spell had disappated. Her older brother Colin was captain of Ravenclaw's team, and he was hexing his fellow seventh year Daphne Quill. She fell over, stunned, and he turned around to raise his eyebrows at Zacharias, who nodded approvingly.

Just then, Colin's teammate Saul Worthey hit him from behind with a Levicorpus spell, and he rose into the air with a shocked look on his face. Zacharias opened his mouth to yell at Worthey, it wasn't sportsmanlike, but Greg Kilburne got there first.

"Good, Saul. If you're up against someone more experienced than you are, surprise is all you've got."

Zacharias was annoyed, but couldn't deny that Greg was right. He kept his mouth shut.

Saul spun around and threw up a shield to protect him as Slytherin Barret Proust tried to hex him.

"Excellent, Saul," Professor Kilburne said enthusiastically. Then he spun around with an angry look. "Jack!" he shouted at his brother, who was raising his wand against Head Boy Chester Michaels. "Don't you dare use that curse during a lesson!"

Jackson narrowed his eyes at his brother, and Zacharias realized the boy didn't really like having Greg as his professor and Head of house. But it was Chester who spoke up.

"I told him he could, Professor. We wanted a chance to practice a few more dangerous spells."

Professor Kilburne's mouth drew into a sharp line. Zacharias answered Chester, keeping one eye on Colin and Daphne's progress.

"I know you think you're going to need those spells, but do _not_ use them without our permission during the lessons that Professor Kilburne and I have agreed to give you. I don't want to send you up to Madam Pomfrey in a bucket, understand? You do not have practical experience defending yourself against spells like that, and until you do, don't throw them around."

Jackson and Chester nodded at Zacharias soberly.

Alicia Ponder, left on her own when Roman sportingly agreed to partner briefly with Head Girl Nancy Booth, whipped her wand around and hit Hufflepuff Chaser Algernon McDougal with a perfectly executed Bat-Bogey hex. Professor Smith started laughing, fond memories of his own schooldays dancing through his head. He thought wistfully back to the brief glimpse he'd gotten when Ginny Weasley had done that to Draco Malfoy. That stopped his laughter almost immediately. Dumbledore's Army, they'd called themselves, all proudly ready for battle, as they'd thought. Then they'd started dying. And now here he was trying to equip another "army" because somehow Thomas Tyrell continued to elude Aurors and everyone was afraid it was starting again.

Zacharias had been adamant when he'd agreed to start these lessons with Greg. Sixth and seventh years only. He refused to see thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds being trained in combat. They could bloody well stay out of it this time. This time, children weren't going to die.

"All right, everyone!" he shouted, casting a glance up at the horizon. "It's getting dark, that's enough, let's sort everyone out and get inside!" They'd decided there was less of a chance of destroying priceless artifacts or children's limbs outside. But it didn't do to be out after dark these days. Zacharias shivered as he herded them back into the castle.

---Break---

Drew felt gratefulness sitting warm in the pit of his stomach as he saw Hagrid's outline in the window of his hut while he led Ran to the greenhouse. Hagrid was keeping an eye on them as he escorted the boy across the grounds. Ran was nearly doubled over and gasping with every breath, Drew trying to hold him up with one arm and hold himself up with the other. He knew Ran was used to this moment, but it still twisted his gut to watch it. He wished he didn't have to, but they didn't want to leave Ran alone at all, not even when he was transformed. He was going to sit up in the greenhouse with Ran all night.

He looked up at the dark sky and glared at the full moon as Ran stumbled and moaned. He hated seeing the boy like this. He saw movement at the corner of his vision and spun quickly, but it was only Nymphadora Lupin patrolling the grounds—her husband was likely hiding out in one of the other greenhouses. She started moving toward them, but Drew lifted his hand away from Ran for a moment to wave in reassurance. They'd be fine without her. He finally got Ran into the greenhouse, and Ran crawled away to curl in a heap under one of the tables. He panted, twitched, and then suddenly hair sprouted from every inch of his skin and his panting became a low snarling noise. A moment later, and a werewolf pup was unfolding itself from the floor and getting gracefully to its feet, licking its lip and revealing a row of gleaming, yellowish teeth.

Drew's heart jumped, but Ran simply trotted forward and nudged him to let him know that he was fine. "All right, then," Drew said. "Are you ready?"

Ran yipped, and Drew pulled out his wand.

"Let's get to work. First, we'll work on dodging my spells. Obviously, you can't use a wand right now, and I don't want you to be helpless. With all the playing we've been doing, you pretty much know a hundred ways to take someone down, but there are other things you'll need to do."

Drew made suggestions for quick leaps, ducking, even a sort of rolling motion. Ran was quick as a werewolf, but Drew worked with him for a long time. He wasn't taking any chances. He felt a little guilty for this. McGonagall had agreed with Smith that no one under sixteen ought to attend the extra lessons, but Ran was in a unique position. Once a month, he was separated from the rest of the school and much more vulnerable. Even McGonagall couldn't object to teaching Ran how to defend himself.

Of course, teaching him how to disarm his opponent and get in the way of attacks on other students might be crossing the line. But really, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

---Break---

Hagrid turned away from the window, only to poke his head out his front door. He waited until neither Tonks nor Lupin were in sight then swiftly lumbered up the hill to the castle. He was meeting Matt, Bear, and Basil in an empty classroom on the ground floor, where they assured him no one else would be coming this late in the evening.

He agreed with the kids that it was wrong not to give them some instruction just because they were young. Hagrid wasn't even planning to teach them a lot of offensive spells, mostly just defensive stuff they could use if they were being attacked. Hagrid honestly couldn't see this Tyrell bloke wanting to attack first years, but he was a nutter, wasn't he? If a first year happened to be in his way . . .

"Hagrid, thanks for coming," Matt greeted him as he ducked inside the mostly empty room. This room hadn't been used for anything in years, and now the only things in it were Matt and his two friends. They hadn't even told their other first year friends they were doing this. Basil had explained this when they'd come down to his hut to ask him for the lessons. If the other first years wanted extra instruction, they ought to think to ask for it. Basil wasn't about to jeopardize his own training by giving the information to loose lips. Hagrid was impressed by that, thought Basil was a very bright kid.

"Well, let's get started," Matt said with a smile.

Hagrid smiled back, and knew this was the real reason he'd agreed to do this. Matt was a Potter now. Who knew what that name would drive Tyrell to do?

---Break---

Maddy stared up the length of Pierce's wand and into his face, which was sober. She abruptly forced a pig's snout on herself, making Pierce jump in surprise, and she triumphantly turned her wand on him with a laugh. Lana shoved her shoulder, laughing as well.

"Pierce, how could you fall for that?" Lana giggled. "You already _know_ she's an Animagus."

"At least we know it'll work," Maddy said, resuming her face's original shape and the laughter gone from her voice. She pushed a lock of blue hair back from her face and turned to the other students gathered in the room. "Come on, guys, we've really got to practice."

The rest of them were just sort of lounging around, and Maddy felt annoyed. But they got serious enough when she said something. Douglas and Morgan, who'd been leaning over something they were studying but really just playing with each other's hands, nodded soberly and took their wands out. The two other fourth-years they'd invited, Hufflepuff girls Sadie Greene and Sukhvinder Suresh, also stopped giggling and came to attention.

"We don't really know that many spells," Sadie pointed out as she faced Lana. "How are we supposed to practice what we don't know?"

Lana shrugged impatiently. "We'll work on what we do know. It's better than nothing. At least this way we'll be prepared."

Maddy noticed the sly elbow Morgan dug into Douglas' side. "What?" she asked him sharply.

Douglas and Morgan looked at each other and grinned. "We were watching the training session Smith and Kilburne were giving today," Morgan said.

"We took notes," Douglas added with a gleam in his eye.

Morgan plucked a crumpled piece of parchment from Douglas' robes. "Here we are. Spells. A few instructions from Smith on how to use them. We even wrote down a couple of effects we noticed, when they actually managed to hit each other."

Maddy caught Pierce's eye and they smiled grimly. "All right, then," she said. "Let's get to it."

---Break---

"_Protego_," Lysander Sorenson said lazily with an equally lazy flick of his wand. His sculpted features were marred with a frown. "Lark, you're not trying very hard."

Despite this accusation, sweat stood out on Lark's forehead, and she stared at her boyfriend with sober eyes. "I _am_ trying, Lys."

"Trying not to hurt me, you mean," he replied. He shook his head. "We decided to practice because we want to get better, remember?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot, Lysander Caius Sorenson," she said sharply. "Look, it's kind of difficult to start throwing hexes at your boyfriend. I _don't_ want to hurt you."

"I don't want to hurt you, either," he said, his voice softer now. "But I do want to improve. We're both pretty quick, we'll be able to defend ourselves against each other. I just don't think that's good enough. We need to be quicker, and we need to be stronger. That's not going to happen unless we're blocking spells with some force behind them."

"I know all that," Lark said, and she wiped a tear off her cheek. "I don't like this, Lys. This feels so weird. How can all this be happening again?"

Lysander felt a pang go through him as he saw his girlfriend struggle with her fear. She'd told him, once, that she used get up in the middle of the night to sleep in her younger sister's room, back when Voldemort was still in power, just in case someone came after them. Lysander understood, he hadn't let his brother out of his sight for nearly three years when they were kids. Well, they weren't kids anymore, and their younger siblings weren't really, either. Maybe there was a little more they could do this time.

He wrapped his arms around Lark, who pressed her face against him for a moment, seeming to gather some strength from the embrace. He thought he was gathering something from it, too. Then she stepped back, her face clear but no happier.

"All right," she said, lifting her wand. "I'm ready."

Lysander raised his wand as well. "Just pretend I'm coming for Lana," he said quietly. He kept Apollo in the back of his mind as they resumed their practice. It worked.


	20. Chapter 15: Death and Glory

Chapter Fifteen

Death and Glory

When Harry walked into the dank little cottage, he was feeling disappointed. A tip-off had finally led them to the place where Tyrell had been hiding out, but he'd gotten word of their impending arrival and fled by the time they showed up. The cottage was a forgotten bit of property owned by a wizard who Harry had already suspected was tied to Tyrell. He'd obviously given it over to the boy for however long he needed it, Harry realized as he stepped in and saw that Tyrell had decorated. He wasn't very creative, Harry thought sourly, it was the same decorating scheme he'd used at home. Newspaper clippings and photographs.

Harry sent most of his team back as soon as he determined there was no ambush waiting. He kept back Dan Waverly and Colin Creevey. Colin normally worked in Muggle Relations, but he was a trained combat wizard, and Harry had been relying on his experience quite a bit the last few weeks. Colin was not the cheery and excitable boy Harry had known in school. The death of his younger brother had made him much more serious, and Harry hadn't seen a camera in Colin's hand in years. He still beat himself up for not being there when Dennis had been killed by Millicent Bulstrode, but no one blamed him for that. He'd been busy fighting back-to-back with Zacharias Smith against Lucius Malfoy, whom they'd been tailing to gather information. The Weasleys had killed Malfoy only weeks later.

Harry held his wand up for light, and saw the other two doing the same. He found a lantern and lit it, but the light was still a bit dim. He wasn't the best at Transfiguration, so he had Dan make them another lantern from a cauldron hanging over a dead fireplace. It was still an ugly dank place, but there was enough light to go by, at least. Colin didn't say a word after he agreed to stay with Harry and Dan, simply watching them set up the lanterns with his deep-set, haunted eyes. He didn't put away his wand, either, though he let the light fade from the tip. He simply kept it in his hand, close by his side. Harry didn't blame him. Just a few years ago, ambushes had been all too common. Harry himself kept his wand in a little sheath on his belt, in easy reach.

The three of them scoured the cottage for clues as to where Tyrell might have run to. There weren't any. There was, however, a dead dog, little more than a puppy, that bore all the signs of having been tortured to death. Harry studied the glazed eyes and the frozen lips lifted in an eternal snarl of pain and rage.

"Lovely," he sighed.

He set down the lantern on the dusty table so he could drag the blanket from the bed against the wall over the animal's carcass. He looked up to see Colin staring at the blanket-covered lump with an expression of near-rage. He saw Harry looking at him, and turned away, his jaw set. He got down on his knees to look under the bed.

Harry had already shuffled through the items on the table for any information on other possible locations Tyrell might have gone to, but now he sat down in a chair to take a little more time. Any information on Tyrell was good, he supposed, even if it wasn't a location. Dan came to sit down at the table to help, while Colin looked over the newspaper articles Tyrell had chosen for wallpaper. The number of chairs here, six to be exact, told Harry that Tyrell did indeed have supporters, followers, friends, whatever one wanted to call them. He wondered briefly what Tyrell called them.

There was another book like the journal he'd found in Tyrell's house, hidden under a couple of maps of the area. Harry quelled his excitement and flipped it open. He was disappointed. It was a book of poetry. Poetry about death, to be exact. It was very amateurish and silly poetry, he thought with disgust. The beautiful surrender to eternity's clutching arms, indeed! Eternity was _not_ like an insane lover taking you down to hell, Harry didn't think, nor did he think Tyrell had ever had any kind of lover to compare it with. He choked with something resembling laughter when he found a poem calling _Cruciatus_ torture a sweet pleasure like the sucking cold bite of a vampire. Tyrell had apparently never been bitten by a vampire, either. From all accounts, it was not very pleasurable. But if one found _Crucio_ so nice, well . . . He shared his find with Dan, who was frowning over what looked like a shopping list that was unfortunately full of items found in just about any wizarding shop in the world. Dan grimaced, but with a slight smirk on his lips.

Harry looked over at Colin. Colin was simply staring at a moving photograph. Harry squinted and saw it was a photograph taken while Tyrell had been torturing the now-deceased dog. He got up to lead Colin away from the picture, but Colin had snatched the picture off the wall and was tearing it to shreds with his face turning red. He looked up at Harry with fury in his eyes.

"How does this happen?" he demanded. "How do people like this slip through the cracks for so long?"

Harry was helpless to answer. Colin turned away in disgust and pulled out a little notebook to jot down the titles and dates of the articles on the walls. Harry went back to Tyrell's little book, still hoping he'd written something slightly more useful than ghastly poetry somewhere in it.

"'_Ode to the Dark One Fallen_'?" he said aloud when he turned a page. "God, why on earth would you glorify a murderer like this?" He read a few lines and threw the book down. "Ugh."

"More bad poetry?" Dan asked.

Harry put his head in his hands. "Not to mention more Harry hate." He glared at the book. "So I killed the bastard," he informed the leather cover. "What's it to you?"

Oddly, that made Colin let out a short, sharp laugh. Harry looked up in surprise.

"Talking to books, Harry, really."

"Yes, well, sometimes diaries talk back you know," Harry replied. Then he felt his eyes widen. "You don't suppose . . ." He cast a spell at the book of poetry, then shook his head. "Never mind. Just a book. But I think I'm going to try it on that journal we found a few months ago. You never now what we might turn up. I think everybody knew about that diary of Tom Riddle's, I can see Tyrell wanting to copy him." _Just as long as he's not making it into a Horcrux_, he thought to himself with a shudder.

"Harry, you lived as a Muggle for a long time," Colin said, sounding like he was having some sort of epiphany.

"Er, yes."

"You ever meet any of those kids who thought they were Nazis? You know, Hitler worship?"

Dan scowled. "We all know who Hitler was."

"Yeah, but you don't meet many magical kids trying to be like him," Colin pointed out.

"What are you getting at, Colin?"

"Well, they're always going on about restarting the Third Reich or something."

"Right . . ."

"What if that's what Tyrell is doing? Not trying to start something new, just trying to, er, keep Voldemort's spirit alive."

"You think?" Harry said, and he felt a small measure of hope for the first time. Dan's face suddenly cleared of it's frown, but Harry got there a moment before he did. "He'll be tracing Voldemort's steps, then. We need to start searching through Voldemort's old haunts, not looking for places Tyrell is connected to."

"Exactly," Colin nodded. "They're perfect locations to hide in. Nobody comes near them."

Harry stood up. "I'll send a couple of guys in to collect this stuff as evidence. Let's go regroup at the office and get to work."

A loud crack sounded just outside the door, and they all three instantly had their wands out and pointing. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt, who gave their wands only cursory attention before he waved a beckoning hand.

"Come with me," he said in his booming voice. "There's been another murder, and it's a big one."


	21. Chapter 16: Sound the Alarm

Chapter Sixteen

Sound the Alarm

A quickly arranged Portkey brought the two Aurors to the scene of the crime with Kingsley in the lead. As soon as he ushered Harry forward toward the building, which had a largish group of children huddled out front with blankets around their shoulders and tears on their cheeks, Harry stopped dead.

"Merlin's balls!" he exploded.

"What is it, Harry?" Kingsley asked in a tone of annoyed impatience.

He only shook his head and hurried after Kingsley. "I know this place . . ." he whispered. He stopped on the sidewalk, though Kingsley hadn't noticed and had continued to the Muggle police officer keeping watch over the door to prevent anyone from entering. There were two other officers out front, holding back a couple of journalists and leaving little attention for the flock of befuddled orphans.

He crouched down in front of a tiny girl with a thick birdnest of sleep-tangled hair. She had obviously been crying, though she wasn't now, and she flinched away from him as he drew his face even with hers. Her eyes were huge and wide and red with tears, and her frail little hands held a gray blanket around herself. A few older children immediately turned their attention on him, ready to strike in defense of their own should the need arise.

_What if it's one of the children_? he asked himself, and his heart thudded painfully. "Are you all right?" he asked the little girl softly. "Are you warm enough?"

Her feet were bare, but she nodded anyway. "Mrs. Beecham is dead," she whispered in a scratchy little voice that made him think she was just getting over a cold. "Gilbert _saw_ her. And he saw the bad boy."

"What bad boy?" Harry asked. She flinched away from him again. "I won't hurt you, I promise. What bad boy?"

"The one who killed Mrs. Beecham!" she wailed. "Sir, what's going to happen to us? Our mummies and daddies died, so we had Mrs. Beecham to take care of us, but now she died! There isn't anybody to take care of us anymore!"

Harry felt anger trying to claw its way up his throat and leap out in a burst of growling invective against the deranged freak who would do something like this to _children_, to a little girl. He forced it down and found it in himself to smile at the waif. He put his hands on her cotton-clad shoulders lightly.

"They'll find someone for you, of course," he said with all the reassurance he could muster. "We'll take care of this, and we'll get you tucked into bed for the night somewhere." Her eyes were doubtful, and he heard a disbelieving noise coming from someone in his peripheral vision. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Minnie," she squeaked.

"Well, Minnie, I'll promise you something if you'll promise me something, too."

She scrunched up her nose, then nodded.

"I will promise you that if they don't find someone to take care of you, I'll do it myself. Okay? I don't want you to worry about that. And now you have to promise me something. You have to promise that you will never, ever go anywhere with a stranger, even if they're a nice stranger like me. You have to watch out for the other kids, too, and make sure they don't go anywhere with strangers. Right?"

She nodded, but her eyes were troubled. "You're a stranger."

"Not really," Harry said casually, and he stood up slowly, not wanting to frighten her by moving too suddenly. "I'm a policeman like that man there," he waved his hand at the door guard, whom Kingsley was arguing with.

"You don't have a badge," a boy of about Matt's age said boldly. He eyes Harry's blue jeans and jumper and scarf. "You don't have a uniform."

"I don't have a uniform," Harry said agreeably, "but I do have a badge." He reached into the pocket of his jeans and flipped out the official card he carried—the card Kingsley seemed to have forgotten and the card which only the two of them had, so far as he knew. "Now, I have to go inside and look around. All you kids, stay together, and keep an eye on each other," he commanded. Then he rushed to his co-workers' rescue.

"Police consultant," he interrupted the exchange, holding out his card. "See? It's all very on the record, just like he's been saying."

The thickset officer's face was nearly purple from being so red, and this only improved his likeness to a tomato. He snatched the laminated card and stared at it, then shoved it back at Harry. "Fine. You got permission, you go in. He—" he jerked his thumb at Kingsley "—stays out here." Kingsley started to protest again, but he was cut off. "No card, no entrance."

"It's all right, sir," Harry said in a low, urgent voice. "I'll go in and have a look, and you can keep an eye on the kids. Try to find one named Gilbert—he may have seen Tyrell."

Given Kingsley's mood, Harry didn't hold out much hope that the big man would go easy on the boy.

---Break---

Harry was back outside only minutes later, just as the ambulance arrived to take away Mrs. Beecham's body and a van showed up containing two social workers to round the orphans up and get them to another location. Harry reconnected with Kingsley and they hurried back to the Auror office, where Dan and Colin were waiting for them anxiously.

"It's the same orphanage," Harry said with assurance. "Tom Riddle grew up in that building." He didn't tell them that he'd seen it before in a Pensieve while searching out Horcruxes with Professor Dumbledore. "I think Tyrell was there tonight looking for information about Voldemort. He was foolish enough to think it would still have the same director. Her office was thrashed. I think he'd been tearing up her old files, trying to find something."

"You think he killed her out of anger?" Dan asked. "For not being what he wanted?"

Harry nodded, but he didn't really think that at all. What we was thinking was making his stomach clench into a painfully hard knot. The placement of her body and the expression on her face—one of some curiosity as well as fear—gave him the distinct impression that the killing had been ritualistic to Tyrell. And _that_ had him incredibly afraid. Tyrell was getting closer and closer to splitting his soul. He had somewhere found out that Voldemort kept objects and killed people of vast significance to him. And with Colin's theory fitting everything into place so neatly, it explained why Tyrell was there. He wanted to make that orphanage significant to him as well.

Aloud, Harry only said that Tyrell was going to all the places Voldemort had been connected with.

"And that at least gives us a plan to go forward with," he said, more enthusiasm in his tone. "We now know where to set up watch. Mind you, it's going to take a lot of manpower that we'll need to pull in from other offices, but I know where to send them. The Riddle mansion, the Riddle graves, the Malfoy manor, Hogwarts of course, there's a cave by the sea that I want watched, I'll draw up a map of how to find it. Maybe Godric's Hollow, too," he added thoughtfully.

"Where are we going to get enough people to cover all of that?" Dan asked.

Harry shrugged. "We'll have to call the D.A. back together," he said, looking at Colin. Colin nodded, his eyes hard as diamonds. "Dean Thomas and Lee Jordan took over Fred and George's joke shop in Diagon Alley, I think they'll join in. Ernie MacMillan makes wands, but he works from home . . . Zacharias ought to know how to find him. Er, I think Terry Boot is a private tutor for wizarding children in primary school, you'll have to look up his registration in the Education department to get hold of him. I'll talk to Luna, and to . . . to Ginny." He looked up from his rapid-fire, jumbled plan-making to look at Colin again. "Can you think of anyone else?"

Colin shook his head, and his whole face had hardened. "Everyone else is dead," he said bleakly.

"Well, we've still got several of the old folks, too," Harry said, shooting a joking grin at Kingsley. "I'll leave it to you to round them up, sir."

Kingsley didn't smile back, but he nodded. "Let's get to work on this immediately," he said, leaving no room for argument. "The sooner we get everyone into place, the sooner we find Tyrell. It seems we've established a pattern for where he'll turn up, so it only remains to us to be there first." There was real relief in the Head Auror's voice. "We'll have him within a week."

Harry understood Kingsley's confidence, but he didn't feel it, and he really hoped Kingsley wasn't planning to tell Scrimgeour the "good news" just yet. Still worse, he had to go home and tell Ginny that she was needed at the front lines. She was going to rub it in his face, and he was just too tired to deal with that right now.

He dragged himself to his own desk to make a few lists. He'd start Firecalling first thing in the morning.


	22. Letter 5

_Hermione—_

_I'm sure you're well aware of what's been happening over here, and I need to ask you a very serious question. Have you __ever__ spoken of Voldemort to anyone? Even to your husband? Please don't take this the wrong way, I don't mean to offend you, it's just that I need to eliminate any of your acquaintances as possible sources of information for Tyrell. He's getting so close to understanding what Voldemort did, and once he does that . . . you understand what could happen. I know next to nothing about the boy! I would never be able to track down the pieces, if he managed to create them._

_I suppose I'm just looking for some reassurance, and I'm sorry about bothering you. If you could let me know that your family is safe, I'd probably feel a great deal better. Thanks._

_Harry_


	23. Chapter 17: The Little Ones

Chapter Seventeen

The Little Ones

Drew waved Ran out the door, telling him to get to his homework before bed. He wiped a light coating of sweat from his forehead. He'd moved up to helping Ran practice a little extra spellwork. Teaching him how to fight as a werewolf was all well and good, but that really assumed too much. Tyrell could show up at this school on any night of the month. Drew didn't want to see his favorite student unprepared fo such an occurrence. He knew it was probably unfair of him to give all this extra instruction to Ran and no one else, but he didn't feel too bad about it. After all, Ran had sought him out to ask him for help. If the rest of the students were content to sit back and be helpless, that was their decision. There were even a few sixth and seventh years who'd opted out of Smith's and Greg's training, which was just foolish. At least they could practice out in the open.

Drew started off on a patrol of the castle. He and the other professors had set up schedules for which nights they would patrol where, under McGonagall's supervision. She herself had been closeted in her office for days, writing letter after reassuring letter to anxious parents about their children's safety. Drew had heard that word was out about the new tough American professor now, and it amused him that his presence seemed to help calm the fears of people who would have run from him a few months ago. He wondered how Ran's mother might feel about him training her son for battle. Drew had heard quite a bit about Vianne Edwards from Ran, who barely remembered the father who'd walked out on the family when his son was turned into a dangerous creature. He loved his mother, who was by his account a little overprotective of him. She was something of a timid witch, though her Muggle parents, Ran's grandparents, were always around to lend support.

Drew passed by a few classrooms that he was nearly certain had students working under Silencing charms with varying degrees of usefulness. Of course. Some of the students were practicing on their own. They would think the teachers would disapprove, officially, so they weren't taking any chances. Drew passed by the classrooms with a bolstered feeling, glad to see that the students had some initiative and some survival instincts. He realized that one of the classrooms probably contained Matt Potter and a few of his friends. Not because he'd overheard anything, but simply because Matt Potter was Harry Potter's son. Harry would have instilled in the boy an inherent disregard for rules that he thought he could handle operating outside of. Plus Matt was likely to see the danger attached to his name, and would take steps to counter that danger—on his friend Basil's advice if nothing else.

He faintly heard a door open behind him and Matt's voice speaking in a hushed tone, and smiled. He'd been right, of course. He stepped calmly into an alcove where he wouldn't be seen and peered back. To his surprise, it was not simply Matt and his two friends, but Hagrid also, who stepped out. Drew was horrified to realize that the boy had asked Hagrid to coach them, and found himself striding back up the corridor before he'd even thought about it.

"I hope these three haven't been serving detention, Hagrid," he said in a tone that made it clear he thought nothing of the sort.

Hagrid knew he'd been found out and looked abashed, and all three kids started to slide their feet backward, as if they'd take off running in a moment. Drew fixed them with a firm look to hold them in place.

"Don't worry. When the issue came up among the professors, I voted to have a set of defensive lessons for the younger students." Matt smiled, and Drew winked at him. "However . . ." He turned to Hagrid. "You never even finished school, did you?"

Hagrid was glowering ferociously, but Drew had too much experience to let it intimidate him in the least. "Look 'ere, Stevens, that's none o' your—"

"I'm glad they found someone, though," he cut the big man off. "It's better than trying to learn it on their own. I'm glad you agreed to help them."

Hagrid looked surprised, and tried to recover. "Thanks," he said gruffly. "I know I'm not the best teacher they could 'ave, but— well, they need to know, don't they?"

Drew nodded, feeling fully in control of the situation now. He was a much more gifted wizard, and he had light-years of intelligence on Hagrid. He didn't know why on earth he wanted to do this, and he heard himself saying it as if he were listening to someone else. "They certainly do. I just got finished giving a few pointers to another student, myself. I'd certainly be willing to do the same with these three, if you'd like." He turned his head as he said that, to make "you" include all present. "We can get to work after Christmas break."

Matt nodded happily, nudging his friends. Bear looked happy as well, though Basil was simply regarding him with cautious eyes. Drew didn't blame him. Teachers who were this willing to break rules ought to be a bit suspect. Drew supposed it was just that he remembered what it was like, last time. Danger was no respecter of age. It came after the little ones, too. _He'd_ come after the little ones, once.

---Break---

"Where are you going for Christmas?" Bear asked Basil and Matt as they headed away from their "secret" lesson. She'd quite forgotten about Christmas being so soon, with everything else they'd had to think about. She normally would have panicked at such a realization and dragged out her class materials to study for end-of-term exams, but she didn't have to. Spending time with Basil and sometimes Milton Little had its advantages.

"Home," Basil said with a shrug. "Kim, you know my sister, she's prefect, she thinks she ought to stay to look after the kids who will be staying here during the holidays—but my parents want her home with us. They said there will still be plenty of protection here."

More than enough, in the minds of the three children. The Lupins had been joined by two members of the Auror squad in their protection of the castle, and Professor Smith was patrolling the corridors anytime he wasn't busy with classes, his sessions with the older students, his responsibilities to his house, or assisting McGonagall with administrative duties. Professor Smith had been looking on the verge of dropping with exhaustion for two weeks solid.

"I'll be going home, too," Bear said. "I don't have any brothers or sisters or anything, but I have a couple of friends who didn't come to Hogwarts that I'll get to see. And my parents, of course," she added matter-of-factly. She turned to her best friend/charge to ask, "You'll be going home, too, won't you Matt?"

Matt shrugged, surprising her.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Everyone will be busy," he said softly. They'd reached the place where they had to split up with Basil, so they stopped there. Matt was looking at the ground and scuffing it with his toe. The look on his face made Bear wish that his worry would take a physical form she could pound into the ground. She wasn't good at this feelings stuff. But she did want to protect Matt.

"Your parents are both out on patrol?" Basil guessed.

Matt nodded, still paying attention to the joint of the stones in the floor more than to them. "They're barely able to manage scheduling themselves for opposite shifts so one of them is home with Crash and Charlotte. Mum wrote a letter saying I should plan to stay here. Everybody that should come for Christmas is going to be busy trying to find Tyrell. Even my grandparents."

"I'm sorry, Matt," Bear said. She racked her brains, then placed her hand on his shoulder. That seemed like the thing to do. "At least they're all out there keeping us safe, right?"

"What good is it doing?" Matt said, and she caught her breath when he looked up. His face was dark and sad. "He's too smart. He's not coming to any of the places they're guarding."

Basil spoke up then. "He's decided to put his plans on hold until they're distracted, I bet. He wants to go to those places, but he knows people are there."

Bear felt her heart sink a bit, and she was a little bit mad at Basil for bringing Matt's spirits down instead of helping her try to raise them—but Basil was right, as usual. No doubt this Dark wizard had figured out that they were catching on to his plans. Well, he wasn't being very subtle, was he?

"If you stay here, I'll stay, too, Matt," she offered. She didn't want to stay, she'd been really looking forward to seeing her parents and her friends, but she would do it for Matt.

Matt shook his head. "No, don't do that. I don't even know for sure yet. Mum said the Simpsons might still be coming like they'd planned to. If they're here, I'll go home."

"Who's the Simpsons?" Bear wondered, then remembered. "Oh, that's your parents' old friend, Ambassador Granger-Simpson, right?"

Matt nodded. "My Aunt Hermione, and her husband and my cousins."

"They're not properly your cousins, are they?" Bear asked curiously.

"Bear!" Basil hissed at her.

"No, that's not what I meant," she said, her eyes wide as she realized how it had been misconstrued. Basil thought she'd been talking about Matt being adopted! "I mean, the Ambassador isn't properly related to your parents."

"Maggie is my cousin. Her real dad was my Uncle Ron."

"Oh," Bear replied in surprise. Matt's Uncle Ron was one of the heroic—and dead—Weasley boys. She realized that she'd been given some information that had, for the most part, faded into the back of the minds of those who'd known it to begin with. She guessed it would be hard to be a family if people knew your oldest child really belonged to a different family that had been so tragically interrupted. Well, sort of like how hard it must be to be the Potter family, she thought with amazement. She'd never really thought about how hard it must be to be Matt. She wondered if people always brought up his real parents when he was at home.

Basil looked unsurprised, but Bear thought with maybe just a smidge of resentment that Basil knew everything anyway.

"Anyway," he spoke up, and his voice was a cheerful as if this awkward subject had never come up, "would you two mind if I invited Milt to come to our lessons with Professor Stevens? He's been worried—you know, because his magic isn't very strong. Professor Stevens would probably know a few things Milt could learn."

"Sure," Matt said. Bear deferred to him and nodded. She would prefer keeping the lessons as private as possible, herself, but if Matt thought it was fine, then she wouldn't say anything. Besides, Milton could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. She mentally added Milton to her list of people to protect if it ever came to it.

It was so ingrained into her being that she was the strongest and most able that it didn't occur to her to take stock of their relative magical strengths. If she had, she would have had to admit that if it came to simple spellwork, Matt would probably be the one protecting her. Of course, his reserved nature made it hard to tell. Even Matt didn't know that he would have more powerful spells than Bear if he gave it his all—and that was saying something, because Bear's magic was a near-match for her physical strength, surprisingly at her young age. He would never know that his real father, Roger Markham, would likely have been able to turn Draco Malfoy and his two cronies away, if he hadn't been taken so completely by surprise in his bed that night. Matt had inherited more than sandy hair and blue eyes. He had power sleeping in him—power that Bear didn't suspect existed, but that Basil Townsend was nearly positive of.

Let those who would come after the little ones beware.


	24. Chapter 18: Ran's Christmas Gift

Chapter Eighteen

Ran's Christmas Gift

Drew was sitting calmly on a bench outside, watching some of the students roughhousing in the snow. Some of the other professors didn't want so many children outside, but Drew had offered to keep an eye on them so they could enjoy themselves—it was the first time in several weeks that he'd seen his students acting so carefree. They'd been going around the school with expressions almost as dark as their professors. There were a few others stationed around the grounds, anyway, it wasn't like the children were unprotected.

Some of the kids had come up with the bright idea of a snowball fight on broomsticks. Kerry and Bear, who worked so well together on the Quidditch pitch, seemed to be determined to knock each other off their brooms, and Letty, that frail little girl whose attitude was so at odds with her body, was actually holding her own. Drew had become rather fond of Letty, truth be told. She had more determination than any other two students put together. Asthmatic and anaemic, she was a whirlwind of energy, with a surprisingly large repertoire of crude but funny jokes. Drew had lost count of the number of times she'd developed a nosebleed in the middle of class, but all she ever did was jam a piece of cotton under her nose and go back to work. Nothing held her back—except maybe Ferris Forsythe sneaking up behind her and catching her directly in the back of the head with a snowball, he saw with amusement. Of course, Ran Edwards and Simon Crupp kept Ferris from winning anything by circling the group of younger students and pelting them whenever they had an opening. When Aiken Acklerly dropped out of the sky in a sudden ambush, Drew laughed out loud. Aiken was the strangest boy, and he was constantly in detention, but when the boy came up with the idea of levitating a hundred snowballs and suddenly releasing them on everyone's heads, that had to count for something.

He realized the magnitude of what he was doing suddenly, and it made him sit up stiff as a board for a minute. He was in charge of protecting the children. They'd entrusted him with it, and they hadn't even deliberated over it. He'd proven himself. He was in. He was a trusted Hogwarts professor now. It amazed him, because he'd been on pins and needles nearly the entire term, thinking that by Christmas he would have quit or been locked up. But he was still here, and not just here, but doing well. Most of the children were receiving high marks in his classes, so he was obviously a more competent teacher than he'd expected he would be. None of them, as far as he knew, talked about him behind his back and made snide comments the way he remembered behaving as a student. They didn't seem to resent his presence on the bench. The Quidditch matches had all come and gone without incident, and no one seemed to be complaining about his judgements as referee. He was doing this right, by God. What an incredible thought.

He'd just come to terms with this realization when his breath caught in his throat for a second time. He would hate to compare Hogwarts to a prison, but he'd heard of similar reactions from just-released inmates. Dorcas Thumbley and Claudette Milles might be women, but thick ankles and crow's feet weren't really his thing. But this . . . this _vision_, coming toward him—he would definitely define her as "his thing." The sun sparkled off her sheet of honey-blond hair the way it did off the bright white snow. She moved in small, hurried steps, but they were graceful for all that. She was tall and slender and very, very feminine. She was simply lovely. He locked eyes with her and could feel a grin on his face that he was certainly going to regret when he regained control of his face. She looked uncertain and the smile she returned was very hesitant. Well, and why wouldn't it be? he asked himself in disgust. A man with an eye patch leering at you wasn't exactly what you would expect to find at a school.

He heard a panicked shout, and jumped to his feet, his wand already in his hand. He turned just in time to see Letty Burns fall limply from her broom and land in a snowbank with a muffled whumping noise.

"Professor Stevens!" Trevor Jordan shouted.

He hurried over, cursing as he dragged his bad leg through the snow. He'd left his cane sitting against the bench, but he didn't bother about it. He reached Letty as several of the other students were touching down around her, their faces shocked and frightened.

"I didn't do it," Aiken was saying with wide eyes. "She just fell of her broom, I swear."

"I know you didn't," Drew said brusquely. "Everybody move back, please."

His heart was in his throat as he regarded Letty. She lay limply in the snow with her eyes closed, her face so pale that it nearly blended in. Her nose was bleeding a bit. He looked around.

"Did anyone see what happened?"

Ran landed beside him. "I did. She just . . . her eyes rolled back and she just fell."

"Fainted, I guess," Kerry said, looking a bit less certain of himself than he usually did. "Is she all right, Professor?"

"I'm sure she's fine," he said, infusing his voice with as much confidence as he could muster at the sight of the little girl laying crumpled in the snow—which wasn't much. He tried to think through how he was going to get hold of her—with a knee that wouldn't bend . . . then he nearly smacked himself for his stupidity. What kind of wizard was he, honestly? He raised his wand and murmured a spell that caused the unconscious girl to rise slowly from the ground, her hair floating around her face.

Keeping close attention on his spell so he wouldn't accidentally drop her, he headed off toward the castle, then stopped to call out, "Students, inside please. You know you can't be out without supervision."

There was a chorus of groans, and he raised his free hand to quell them. "I know, I know. Look, I'll try to find Professor Kilburne and see if he'll come out. In the meantime, everybody on the ground and keep an eye on each other, would you?"

He headed for the castle again. Without his cane, his limp became exaggerated, and he grimaced, both at the strain of keeping both himself and Letty from falling, and as he remembered the woman. Was she seeing how awkwardly he moved, did she find it disgusting when she was so graceful?

"Professor!"

He turned and saw Ran loping toward him, carrying his cane. He stopped to let Ran catch up, and saw with surprise that the beautiful woman was hurrying along after them. He accepted his cane with dignity and continued on toward the hospital wing, most of his attention still fixed anxiously on his unconscious charge. Her nose wasn't bleeding anymore, but there was a dried streak of rusty red running across her cheek, and her skin was so pale it looked translucent.

"Thanks, Ran," he said when he realized he hadn't said it yet.

"Is the girl all right?" came a delightfully musical voice from behind his shoulder. He turned his head to see that the woman had caught up with them. Her face was concerned, and her eyes were on Letty.

"I don't know what happened," Drew replied. "I'm bringing her to our hospital wing."

"Mum, why don't you wait here," Ran said.

Drew stopped and turned around, dumbfounded. "Mum? Ran, this is your mother?"

Ran nodded, but his anxious eyes were on Letty. "Yes."

"Mrs. Edwards, I'm glad to meet you. I've heard so much about you," he said, trying to sound pleasant as he resumed his duty. Damn. The beautiful woman was the mother of one of his students. That _had_ to be off-limits. And really, what had he been thinking, considering himself in her league, anyway? Someone like her could get someone much better than him.

"Mum, this is Professor Stevens," Ran said.

"Oh," she said, sounding pleased. "I've heard a great deal about you as well, Professor. But please, call me Vianne."

He nearly stumbled on the stairs. Ran had never told him his mother's name. He bit his tongue to keep himself from remarking on the beauty of her name compared to the beauty of the rest of her. That was the kind of flirting better kept to his life in New York. He was _not_ going to make a pass at an older woman right in front of her son. Because she had to be older than him, by several years. She must be in her thirties. He racked his brains. Ran had told him when his mother's birthday was, because he'd been sad about missing it. Thirty-two. She'd turned thirty-two several weeks ago.

He finally came to the hospital wing, and explained to Madam Pomfrey as best he could what had happened outside. Madam Pomfrey was quite used to seeing Letty, and she murmured a spell to wake the child up.

"Letty?" she called softly.

The girl opened her eyes, which looked huge and dark in her pale face. "Madam Pomfrey," she said weakly. Her eyes flicked around. "Did I faint?"

"Did you eat breakfast this morning?" the mediwitch countered, her eyes snapping.

"No," Letty said, and closed her eyes with a moan.

"I didn't think so," the stern-faced, silver-haired witch said snippily. She turned to Drew. "She'll be fine, Professor," she sighed. "She just needs to eat something. Really, Letty, you know better," she said, turning to the wan girl to scold. "I thought your friends were going to keep an eye on you for me, anyway."

Vianne Edwards looked upset, her lovely lips pressed together in a frown. Drew forced his eyes away from her lips, and gallantly came to Letty's rescue like the great fool he was. He laid a hand gently on Madam Pomfrey's elbow.

"Maybe she needs to rest," he suggested. He remembered Madam Pomfrey's style well enough, and he knew that she would take care of Letty with no trouble, all the while scolding like the good-hearted matron she was. But with Vianne in the room, he couldn't help it. Merlin, he was such an idiot.

Madam Pomfrey turned to him with a frown and another sharp reply on her lips, but her eyes lit on Ran's mother and she didn't say anything. Instead, she looked at Drew meaningfully, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes, and turned back to Letty to croon something comforting that Drew didn't really hear past the buzzing in his ears. He wasn't that obvious, was he?

He herded the small Edwards family out of the ward, and asked pleasantly, "What brings you to Hogwarts, Mrs. Edwards?"

"Really, it's Vianne," she assured him. "I came to get Ran, of course. I . . . with things the way they are, I didn't want him travelling alone."

Drew nodded. "That's perfectly understandable," he said. _And wonderful. Whatever brings you here, it's wonderful_.

"I've been so worried about him," she said in a fretful tone, and Drew didn't miss the way Ran rolled his eyes. "But I suppose I shouldn't. I mean, if he has people like _you_ to watch over him."

Drew tried very hard not to let his chest puff up with pride. He did, however, stand up straighter, no matter the pressure it put on his leg. Still, he wasn't about to damage his status with Ran. Because Vianne was _off-limits_. "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about Ran, anyway. He's pretty good at looking after himself."

"Ran wrote to me to say you've been giving him some extra help with his defensive work," she said. "I wanted to thank you for that."

"It's no trouble," he said, hoping he didn't sound as pompous as Smith would, saying something like that. "I don't want the students to be in any danger that they can avoid with a little bit of extra work."

"You're very dedicated," she said, sounding impressed.

Ran rolled his eyes again and muttered something under his breath. Drew reined himself in, for all their sakes.

"I suppose you two will be eager to get going," he addressed Ran more than his mother.

"Oh. Yes," Vianne answered, sounding a little surprised. "Will you be going home for Christmas yourself, Professor Stevens?"

"Drew," he said, unable to help himself. "But no, I'll be here."

"Oh, I'd forgotten. It would be a long way for you to travel to go home, wouldn't it?"

Drew shrugged, and felt colour creeping into his face. "I'm afraid there isn't really anyplace for me to travel to. I don't have any family, you see." This was very nearly true, but enough of a lie that it made the blush he'd been trying to hold back flame up. "I'll be here, keeping an eye on the students who will be staying over the holidays."

"Oh, I didn't realize . . ." she trailed off, her face turning a bit pink, as well.

Ah, those social _faux-pas_. How he loved to dig himself out of them.

"Professor?" Ran spoke up, looking a bit strange. "Would you . . . would you like to come to our New Year's party?"

Drew faced Ran, surprised.

"My grandparents always have a good New Year's party," he went on. "I just thought, maybe you'd like to come this year."

Drew opened his mouth, knowing he ought to decline. He was a teacher, he should not be going to parties at his student's homes.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Vianne said enthusiastically. "I do hope you can join us . . . Drew."

Dammit.

"I'd love to," he said, feeling another goofy grin coming on. "Count me in."

Ran's eyes gleamed with amusement and pleasure and Drew escorted them back to the front to see them off. Why, that sneaky little pup! He hadn't _planned_ this?

Outside, Ran waved enthusiastically at Matt Potter, who waved back briefly before returning to some kind of shoving match with his Uncle Charlie, who'd apparently come to pick him up. Matt looked really happy, Drew thought, and was glad. Matt rarely looked truly happy. Then Ran caught Drew's eye and grinned. That little shit, he _had_ planned this.


	25. Chapter 19: Christmas at Number Twelve

Chapter Nineteen

Christmas at Number Twelve

Matt happily chopped vegetables for his grandmother. He would have just as happily peeled the potatoes, scooped up turkey guts, or sifted through rubbish, if she'd asked him to. He was just happy that they were both here, at his house, for Christmas. Once they got word that the Simpsons were still going to come, crazed Dark wizards be hanged, Dad had worked it all out so that the whole family would have a shift off at the same time. It had been difficult, though Dad had managed it by virtue of pretty much leading the investigation all this time. Consequently, Christmas dinner was going to be at eleven o'clock in the morning, because Dad and Grandpa both had to go to work at four, but Uncle Remus and Aunt Tonks were going to visit for a few hours when they went off-duty this evening.

Uncle Charlie was the one scooping turkey guts, and making loud jokes. The kitchen was bustling with activity and there was plenty of sunlight coming in through the windows that were shut against the cold weather. Matt hadn't felt this light-hearted in a long time.

"Matt's getting to be so big, isn't he?" Grandma said with pride, squeezing him to her side. Indeed, his head came all the way to her shoulder now. His real father had been quite tall, and he would catch up Dad within a year, as Dad predicted. "Look at you," she beamed, putting a hand under his chin and tilting his face up. Matt was bemused. Apparently he was being inspected. Then her eyes suddenly went soft and sad, and her face was stroking under his jaw. Tracing his scar.

Matt pulled himself away with a scowl. They never brought attention to that, because it made Uncle Charlie feel bad. He looked over at Uncle Charlie to see that he'd gone back to hollowing out the gigantic turkey with a dark look, his shoulders hunched. He glared at his grandmother. It wasn't Uncle Charlie's fault that the potion he'd brought the night Matt had gotten the burns hadn't worked, but he always felt guilty that Matt had been left with the splash of discoloured, wrinkled skin along his jaw and neck. And now Grandma had spoiled Uncle Charlie's good mood and he wouldn't be as much fun for _hours_. Plus thinking about the scar on his neck always gave Matt a tight feeling in his stomach, and he wasn't looking forward to dinner so much now.

Grandma looked like she felt bad, and she turned back to the stuffing she was mixing up for the turkey. Matt left the knife on the cutting board of vegetables and stepped over to the broad-chested red head he loved so dearly.

"Uncle Charlie?"

His uncle gave him a pained smile. "Yeah, Squirt?"

Matt hadn't really thought of anything to say, he just hated seeing him like that. "Can we go flying after dinner?"

"Sure," he answered, his smile a little more genuine.

Then Aunt Hermione entered the kitchen, her head tilted up to speak to Hagrid, who was lumbering in behind her. He ducked to come in, and they both faced Molly.

"Anything we can do to help in here?" Aunt Hermione asked.

Molly shook her head with a warm smile on her face. "No, no, you must be exhausted from travelling. You go on and rest and visit with the family. You, too, Hagrid. I think me and the boys can handle things in here."

Crash came dashing into the kitchen making high-pitched squealing noises of mock fright, laughing in childish delight, a scrap of something frilly and pink fanning out behind his tightly clenched fist. He smacked into the doorframe and careened off it without a care in the world. Mum came running in after him, her face harassed.

"Sirius James Potter!" she bellowed. "Give me your sister's dress this instant!"

Knowing he was caught, Sirius turned and handed it over, his eyes—now covered by a pair of sturdily-framed spectacles—still dancing with laughter. Matt tried not to laugh and attract his mother's ire. He didn't want to get yelled at. But Mum simply snatched up the dress and stalked off, no doubt to get the dress onto Charlotte before Crash could think of anything else to distract her.

Crash looked around the kitchen for more mayhem to cause. His eyes lit on the bright green plastic cutting board Matt had been using to chop the vegetables, the end floating just off the counter over his head.

"What's that?" he asked, and reached up to grasp the end of it. The vegetables tumbled off his head and onto the floor, and Matt felt his heart leap into his throat as he saw the knife start sliding toward his little brother's face. Sirius shrieked, and Grandma reached out with a yelp, but Matt was quicker. He had his wand in his hand, shouting out a spell before he even realized what he was doing. The knife bounced off a bubble of air and clattered to the floor.

They all turned to stare at him, and Mum came running back in with wild eyes, the dress still in her hand. "What happened?"

Hagrid was beaming at him. "Good one, Matt," he congratulated him. "Better than you managed las' week."

Everyone relaxed a bit, remembering that Hagrid had been teaching him a few things he wasn't learning in class. Hagrid had been smart enough to mention the idea to Harry and Ginny before starting. They were keeping it quiet because Zacharias Smith would hassle them to death, but it was by parental consent, anyway. Of course, Matt hadn't yet mentioned that Professor Stevens was going to be taking over the lessons. He'd been waiting for the right moment.

Of course, Hagrid didn't really know that. "'Course, you'll learn a lot more from Stevens," he said gregariously. "He knows more than I do, tha's for certain."

"What?"

Matt turned to see who'd spoken. It was Dad, who was carrying Charlotte, clad only in her diaper and with one of Dad's shirt wrapped around her.

"Stevens agreed to take over for me," Hagrid explained. "Blimey, Matt, didn't you tell them yet?"

Matt shook his head. Hagrid might trust Professor Smith, as Matt did, but he didn't think Mum and Dad did. Why should they, when they hadn't even met him?

"He said he didn't agree with not teaching the younger kids," Matt said weakly, all eyes on him. "He thinks we ought to be better prepared, even though Professor Smith doesn't think anyone would be interested in us. He said he'll only teach us defensive spells, though. He doesn't think we're experienced enough for anything more than that."

Surprisingly, Dad was nodding. "All right," he said soberly. "That's fine, Matt. If Stevens wants to do it, I don't mind."

Mum spun around to Dad with glare and proceeded to have a cow. "I don't think so, Harry. I don't trust Stevens at all. Do you remember how little Tonks turned up on him? We still don't know anything about him. I don't like this, and I don't want Matt spending time alone with him. Don't start making decisions like this without me, you agreed we would work together and discuss things." At this point, everyone starting turning away with embarrassed looks. Uncle Charlie was focused very hard on scooping out the last of the turkey's insides. But Hagrid rose up in Matt and Professor Stevens' defense.

"He wouldn't really be alone with him, would he? There's four other kids besides Matt. And it's not fair to Stevens, Ginny, he's a decent enough bloke. Good teacher, too. I wouldn't let Matt into danger, you know that."

Then Aunt Hermione entered the conversation, and Matt started to feel his heart sinking. This was supposed to be a good Christmas, with the whole family getting along. Why did Hagrid have to just blurt it out like that?

"Hagrid, I hate to say this, but you've got a rather different idea of danger than most of us do," she said, sounding apologetic. "And Ginny's right, I helped Tonks look into Stevens' background and it just doesn't feel right."

Mum nodded at Aunt Hermione, like she was thanking her. Matt could see this getting rapidly out of control. He grabbed Crash's shoulder and pulled him over to hold onto him, seeing his brother getting upset. He didn't like it when anyone was angry or sad. Matt squeezed his shoulder and gave him a little smile.

"Hold it, everybody," Dad said in a voice of firm authority. "Remus and Tonks said they trust Stevens. Remus doesn't particularly like him, because of the killings he was involved in, but they both agree that he has the students' best interests at heart. He's a good wizard, from what I hear, and he's very dedicated to his job. Whatever his past might be, he's obviously left it behind and I think we ought to let him. I can certainly trust him as far as teaching Matt and his friends how to defend themselves." He looked down at Matt with apology in his eyes. "I would be doing it myself if I wasn't so busy trying to track down the bastard who's creating the danger."

Matt smiled sadly at Dad. He understood it just fine, Dad didn't need to apologize for it. After all, learning was something you were supposed to do at school. It was up to Matt's teachers, anyway.

That seemed to be the final word on the matter, and the kitchen slowly rebuilt its happy momentum. But Mum walked out with such a sour expression that Matt never did get around to feeling hungry for Christmas dinner.

---Break---

Uncle Charlie left with Grandpa and Grandma to go to the Burrow after they'd spent a few hours chatting with Uncle Remy and Aunt Tonks. Matt played with his cousins Maggie and Jean-Luc, but his heart wasn't in it. After the Weasleys were all gone and the Lupins had gone back to Hogwarts for the night, the house felt too oppressive. Mum was really upset, and it made Sirius crabby and weepy, which made Charlotte irritable. Aunt Hermione and Jonah rounded up their kids and went to bed early. Matt tried not to think of his Christmas as totally ruined.

The next few days were a bit dreary. When Dad was home, he made an effort to spend time with them, but he was always so tired, and the times he was home were few and far between anyway. Matt suspected that Dad was just sleeping with his head on his arms at his desk sometimes, trying to avoid Mum. Mum was very grouchy. She wasn't home altogether too often, either. She was detailed to guard the Riddle house and graveyard with Colin Creevey. Matt knew that Dean Thomas and Lee Jordan were patrolling the underground ruins of the old Ministry building, and that Ernie MacMillan and Luna Lovegood were watching some old cave by the sea. There were several other locations with teams tasked to watch them. Matt had met some of them, others he'd only heard about. He rather wished he was out there with them. He'd rather be uselessly patrolling a deserted old building than stuck at home with a bunch of morose adults and quibbling kids. He missed his friends.

So when Basil sent a note asking him to spend New Year's Eve over with his family, Matt jumped at the chance. He had to talk Mum into it, but he brought her around by pointing out that the Townsends were a wizarding family and he'd be perfectly safe there. The Simpsons had decided to leave early, anyway, so his own family wasn't going to be celebrating New Year's. Mum had been very nearly convinced, then Dad came home and said Matt could go. Mum looked like she was ready to argue the whole thing over again, but instead she took Crash off to explain to him why he wasn't invited, acting snappish and making Dad chase after her to try to comfort Crash.

Matt wished he could go to Basil's right then. His stomach was in knots. He was starting to be pretty sure that his parents hated each other.


	26. Chapter 20: Happy New Year

Chapter Twenty

Happy New Year

A small crowd of people shuffled through the room that was buzzing with happy holiday conversation. Small flutes of champagne glittered in the Christmas lights that still twinkled from a large tree on glorious display in the center of the room. There were about twenty people present, all laughing and relaxed and dressed in a sort of casual finery, while two or three children dashed through them with giggles and good cheer. It was a very successful party, all in all. Mr. and Mrs. Edwards sure knew how to decorate.

Drew was feeling mellow with his second glass of champagne half-empty in his hand. He was sitting with Vianne and comparing notes on her son, who he'd admitted was his favorite student while admonishing her not to tell, as he supposed he really shouldn't have favorites. He was in very good spirits, indeed. Christmas had been exceptionally lonely—at least last year, he'd had little Bonnie around to present with a gift and receive a kiss from. This year, he'd spent it working on some lesson plans and enduring a meal with Smith and the Lupins. Remus had been just as cold as always, unable to forgive him for the actions his persona had allegedly carried out in Canada against werewolves. At least McGonagall had kept things from getting impolite.

All in all, this was a much better day, despite the crowd of Muggles who were watching him as though he were the evening's entertainment. At least he was spending it with Vianne. Her parents, the Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, were well aware that their grandson did not, in fact, attend a normal boarding school, but they were pleased to see that Drew was perfectly capable of dressing in Muggle attire and conversing with them. Vianne and Ran lived with them, so it had been impossible for them not to know that Ran changed into a dangerous animal once a month, but they'd managed to keep the knowledge within the family. Ran's father's family was a wizarding one, apparently, but they'd never had anything to do with Vianne or Ran. Drew couldn't say he was unhappy about that, despite feeling bad for them. The kind of man who'd walk out on his family just because things got tough—if you could call your son turning into a werewolf "tough"—wasn't the kind of man who was worth it anyway. In Drew's humble opinion.

He found himself liking the small, close-knit family. They'd all lived together in the Edwards' grand home since the day Ran's father had left, and they were all so comfortable with each other. Ran obviously shared the sort of mutual affection with his grandparents that Drew couldn't have imagined with his own family. He'd found Tuck's family a bit unorthodox, but this family was of the kind he wished he'd belonged to.

He didn't notice that wistfulness appearing in his voice until Vianne mentioned it, and then berated himself for acting so vulnerable.

"When was the last time you had family to celebrate the holidays with, Drew?" she asked with a compassionate look.

Drew found he had to ignore the "celebrate" part of it, and some of the "family" part, too, and just said, "My mother died when I was nineteen." He wasn't about to tell her he'd just had dinner with his cousin a week ago, or . . . well, or anything.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her perfect face marred by a sad expression. "That must have been awful, to lose her so young. What about your father?"

"He died when I was eighteen." Merlin, this was hard. No one had asked him about his parents, and he hadn't realized how difficult it would be to talk about them.

"Oh, dear. What happened?"

"Ah . . . Look, Vianne, I'm sorry, but I'd rather not talk about it. My past doesn't hold too many good memories."

"I understand. I'm so sorry, Drew, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's fine," he said, trying to sound like it really was, and failing. He got to his feet. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, though. Oh, I see Marie, would you mind if I . . ."

"No, of course. Go ahead."

Drew saw Ran angling toward him, his face content, as his mother meandered over to speak to her friend Marie. Then a hand closed on his elbow, and he looked round to see Vianne's father standing there with a very serious expression.

"Mr. Stevens, I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"Yes, thank you."

"I wondered if I could show you the rest of the house."

Drew looked at the firm hand on his arm, and smiled as serenely as he could manage. "I'd love to see it."

Mr. Edwards drew him off, saying heartily, "let me show you my study," for the benefit of his guests. He did indeed take him into the study—and closed the door.

"Have a seat, Mr. Stevens." He himself sat at his desk.

Drew sat down, cursing more than ever his ungainly method of lowering himself down with his leg jutting out before him. Stupid leg.

"My grandson can't stop talking about you," the man with the square jaw and the salt-and-pepper hair began. "He talks about you like you're his hero."

Drew tried to think of a way to extricate himself from this situation. He knew accepting the invitation had been a bad idea. "I'm very fond of Ran," he admitted. "He's a very good kid. Noble, even."

"As one of his teachers, I'm sure you're aware of his condition."

"Didn't he tell you?" Drew asked in surprise, making the man frown. "I'm the one who brews his potion and keeps watch over him when he transforms."

A few of the lines on his face deepened. "I see. I didn't realize you two were so close."

Drew shrugged uncomfortably. "Like I said, your grandson is a very decent boy. I have a lot of respect for him. He works very hard."

"As do you, according to my daughter."

"Your daughter . . ." he said weakly.

Mr. Edwards leaned over the desk. If he'd meant it to be intimidating, he did it well. "Has been alone for a long time, Mr. Stevens. She seems quite taken with you. I'm sure you noticed."

"I did, actually," he said.

"My family means a great deal to me, you see. I would never allow anything to happen to any of them."

Drew suddenly found himself annoyed. He'd faced worse things than this in his lifetime, and besides, if he was honest with himself . . . Well, it was time to be honest with himself and Mr. Edwards together.

"Mr. Edwards, I certainly respect your need to protect your family."

The man looked surprised by the strength in Drew's voice. His eyebrows practically melted into his receding hairline.

"I want nothing but the best for Ran, and for Vianne. That's why I plan to be perfectly frank with your daughter, and let her know that I don't intend to allow this to go any farther. I won't flatter myself by pretending to have any idea why she's interested in me to begin with. I can see how much she loves her son and I can only assume she sees me as her son's protector. I intend to continue to protect Ran, but I won't get any closer to her." He sensed he was getting somewhere with the man. His surprise, and his concern, seemed to be dissipating. "Your daughter is a very attractive woman in many ways. She deserves much better than me. I won't deny I wish it were otherwise, but I'm pretty good at facing reality. I'm far too young for her, for one thing."

"You are?" Mr. Edwards asked, startled.

"I'm twenty-five," he said dismissively. "I'm also disable and lacking in family and friends." He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I've killed people."

Mr. Edwards gripped his hands into fists on the arms of his desk chair and stared at Drew with cold, sharp-edged fury. "What?"

"I was hired out of school to kill an out-of-control pack of very bloodthirsty werewolves. And I did kill them. Not many people know this, Mr. Edwards, not even everyone on the staff at the school." He met Mr. Edwards' eyes and hoped his own would reveal how open he was right now. "Please do not ever tell Ran this. He would be devastated."

"Not . . . tell . . ." the man squeezed out.

"Believe me, sir, I wish my past was very different. But there _are_ ugly things in it, and I wouldn't subject your family to my regrets and my nightmares. I'm trying to make a new life for myself here, and I have no business dragging Vianne into that. Please forgive me for not controlling myself better thus far."

He gritted his teeth and waited for Mr. Edwards to scream at him to get out of his house. Drew would flee gladly at this point. But Mr. Edwards just sat there, staring at him. He stood up.

"I'll just make my excuses, sir."

"No."

Drew frowned. "Then I'll slip out. Would you please let Ran know that I—"

"No, Mr. Stevens."

Drew's heart started to thump. He was afraid that Mr. Edwards was going to force him to tell the lie of his made-up past to Vianne and Ran, and Ran would never trust him again.

"I'd like you to stay."

Drew met the man's eyes, surprised, his heart picking up even more. "You would?"

"I was in the service, Mr. Stevens. I understand that sometimes young men get asked to do things they don't want to do. I won't hold your past against you. I want to thank you for being so honest with me. I think you're a man of integrity."

Drew nearly laughed aloud at that. Integrity was just about the last trait he had.

"I'd appreciate it if you would be very cautious around my daughter—_very_ cautious—but I don't want to interrupt your relationship with Ran. You've become almost like a father to him."

Drew actually jerked in shock at hearing that word applied to him. "Oh— I don't think— I'm not—"

Mr. Edwards was smiling with grim amusement. "Whether you like it or not, Mr. Stevens, I'm afraid the level of responsibility you have for Ran is a bit higher than you were aiming for. He hasn't had a father in his life for—"

"I know. He told me about his father."

Mr. Edwards' face darkened again, thinking about him.

"Don't worry, Mr. Edwards. I'm not going to walk out of Ran's life like that. After all, I think I've proven I'm capable of accepting that he's a werewolf."

Mr. Edwards winced at that word. "I suppose you have." He looked over Drew, and Drew tried to stand up to his scrutiny without flinching or so much as blinking. "Well, shall we rejoin the guests?" he sighed.

They did so, just in time to join them in counting down the last minute before midnight. Ran appeared at Drew's side, then Vianne at his other, and he smiled at them as they chanted,

"Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, ONE!"

"Happy New Year!" all the guests cried.

"Happy New Year," Vianne murmured, smiling up at him.

Drew's heart sank as he realized he was going to have to have a talk with her. "To you as well, Vianne." He turned to Ran and elbowed him and grinned. "And you."


	27. Chapter 21: The Skeleton in the Closet

Chapter Twenty-One

The Skeleton in the Closet

Matt was always friendly with Ran, but they had their separate lives, for the most part. The lessons they took together with Basil, Bear, and Milt were only once a week, and Ran really only talked to Bear during those, usually about Quidditch. So he was quite surprised when Ran pulled him aside in the common room and said he wanted to ask him something. They weren't allowed out of the Gryffindor tower at night anymore, so Matt simply allowed Ran to drag him up the stairs toward the bedrooms. They paused on a landing.

"What do you think of Professor Stevens?" Ran asked him, his tone and bearing suggesting that this was the most important question he'd ever asked.

"Well, I think he's a good teacher," Matt stammered. "And I think it's brilliant that he's going to let us join the training sessions you do with him. He doesn't treat us like we're just kids—"

"Do you think the rumours about him are true?"

Matt frowned. "What rumours?"

"That he was . . . well, a criminal."

"Who says that?"

"Well, nobody calls him a criminal, exactly, but they all think he comes from a really dark past. I mean, he was attacked by a werewolf and he survived without even being bitten. People say he's dangerous."

What Matt had heard about Stevens during the argument at Christmas came to mind, but it wasn't anything he necessarily wanted to share with Ran. He didn't want to get Professor Stevens in any trouble.

"What's the big deal, anyway?" he asked Ran. There had to be a reason Ran had to drag him off alone to ask him this, after all.

Ran looked miserable, and he turned his eyes toward a window set into the curving wall. "He likes my mum."

"He . . . what?"

"He came to our house for New Year's. He and my mum were . . . well, my grandfather took him aside to act all threatening. I think Mum likes him, too."

"Oh," Matt replied, feeling very much at a loss. Adult romance was not something he cared to get involved in, as a rule. He'd seen Uncle Charlie in too many fights with Grandma Weasley about that kind of thing. But now he understood why Ran was so concerned, so he felt he should tell him what he knew.

"My dad asked my Aunt Tonks to check him out," he said, and watched Ran's head snap back to him, eyes wide. "I guess nobody really trusted him, at first. They were arguing about whether or not to let him teach me anything, during the holidays, all of them. I guess Aunt Tonks and Aunt Hermione still don't trust him. They said he'd . . ." Matt racked his brains for the exact phrase. "He'd been involved in killings."

Ran's hands tightened into fists, and Matt got nervous. The full moon was tomorrow, and while he didn't think Ran could or would do anything tonight, it was still too close for comfort.

"But my dad didn't like them talking about it," he said quickly, anxious to head this conversation in the direction he preferred—over with. "Aunt Tonks and Uncle Remus have been here for a few months, and they trust him. Dad said he was a good wizard, and if he wants to leave his past behind him, we should let him. Dad trusts him enough to let him teach me. All three of them, plus all the teachers here, can't be wrong. I mean, he cares about all of us, doesn't he?"

That seemed to get to Ran, and he unclenched his fists. "Yeah, he does."

"He's been training us, and he lets that weird Slytherin Niles Wraven do extra homework with him, and he's taking care of Letty so she doesn't faint again." Matt wasn't sure who he was trying to make his case to. He didn't think Ran needed any more convincing. Maybe he just genuinely liked the Head of his house. After all, with a list of things like that, Professor Stevens certainly seemed to be a good man. "I don't think you ought to worry about your mother. I don't think Professor Stevens would do anything to her."

Ran shrugged. "No, I never thought he would hurt her or anything. Just . . ."

"Leave her like your dad did?" Matt guessed before he could stop himself.

Ran's eyes blazed. "My father was such a coward. I barely remember him. He left when I was five."

"Is your mother that serious about the professor?"

"I don't know. I just don't want that to happen to her again."

Matt was desperate to get himself out of this now. He understood perfectly well why Ran had sought him out—there was no one else he could speak to in Gryffindor who was likely to be as tight-lipped as Matt would, or as willing to sit alone in conversation with an agitated werewolf. But this just felt so _weird_, discussing his professor's love life, discussing his housemate's _mother's_ love life. Merlin, at least it wasn't Grandma and Uncle Charlie.

"It won't," he said with as much assurance as possible. "You can look after your mum, can't you? Professor Stevens isn't a coward, anyway."

That seemed to help. Ran apparently noticed for the first time how uncomfortable Matt was with the whole thing, because he looked over the smaller boy with an amused expression. Mercifully, he let Matt go.

"Thanks, Matt. You're probably right. See you later."

Matt escaped to his room, where Kerry and Trevor were engaged in loud argument over a pair of socks. Matt put on his pajamas and covered his head with a pillow to block it out.

He wondered why he bothered; Matt wasn't sleeping at night anyway. Not lately. He sat up in the dark worrying about his parents and family, and his dreams were plagued with memories of an evil wizard and his birth mother's body being slowly engulfed in flames.

---Break---

Matt was sitting with his chin in one hand when Bear gave him a hard nudge in the ribs.

"Matt!"

"What?" he asked, hurriedly lifting his other hand, which had a quill in it, to continue copying the notes she'd taken in their History of Magic class.

She rolled her eyes. "You've been staring at that for five minutes. You look exhausted."

Matt shrugged. "I am, a little."

Bear opened her mouth to reply, but the hoot of an owl stopped her. A second year whose name Matt did not know had just let it in the window. The bird dropped a note in front of Matt and soared back outside with barely a stirring of air to mark its passage. The second year shut the window and turned to Matt with a confused look, but Matt hurriedly gathered up his things and headed upstairs, Bear following him. Davis and Trevor tried to, but Bear blocked the passage with a firm expression. They headed back for the common room, muttering about it being their room, and Bear being the one who should be shut out of it.

"Who's it from?" she asked.

Matt was just now opening it. He hadn't missed the exchange and knew he'd have to take attitude from Davis and Trevor later. "I don't know," he muttered, and scanned it. "Professor Stevens," he said in surprise. "He says something's wrong with Ran and he wants me to come to the greenhouse."

"What?" Bear asked, snatching the letter. "Why would he want you?"

Matt shrugged, but he thought he knew. Ran must have confronted Professor Stevens about his mother earlier in the day, and now he was putting up a fuss in his werewolf form. Professor Stevens wanted Matt to come talk him out of it. Matt felt a thrill of fear as he realized that the professor would never ask for help unless he was afraid Ran might hurt him. And then it struck Matt that Professor Stevens was _afraid_ of Ran right now. Ran wasn't the first werewolf to threaten him.

Matt explained his thoughts to Bear as quickly as he could. Bear looked slightly alarmed when Matt told her that he'd had a conversation about budding romance with their teacher, but it didn't last long as he explained that Professor Stevens probably needed his help. Bear frowned, but agreed that Matt might be able to keep Ran from causing any damage he'd regret later. Ran seemed to trust Matt.

"But whoever is on patrol tonight will stop me," Matt fretted.

"That's good, though, they could help," Bear said.

"And then the whole school would know about Professor Stevens and Ran's mum. I don't want to do that to them."

Bear flicked her eyes over Matt's shoulder and smiled a little. "Can you fit out the window?"

Matt turned around and tried to make a guess. "I think so."

"I saw this old Muggle movie where a kid climbed out his window by tying the bedsheets together like a rope."

Two minutes later, Matt was straddling a twisted knot of canopy drapes and trying not to look down as he climbed. Bear watched for adults, secretly hoping one of them would show up and escort Matt to the greenhouse, no matter what he said. Then she decided, to hell with it, she was going to escort him herself. She started climbing down after him.

---Break---

Drew cast a glance at Ran, who was contentedly asleep next to his chair, and pulled out the newspaper he hadn't gotten a chance to read that morning. The front headline make him drop the paper in shock, and he retrieved it with trembling hands, his face white.

_Draco Malfoy returns home_, the _Daily Prophet_ proclaimed. _Blond-haired wizard seen by patrol at Malfoy Manor_. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood reported seeing a man who could only be Draco Malfoy trying to sneak in past their guard, quickly retreating without confrontation when he saw them. A manhunt for resurfaced Death Eater was underway.

_It can't be _himDrew thought in panic,_ it just can't be_. But who else could it be? The skeleton in the Malfoy closet had just rattled his bones.

Drew cursed, rising to his feet and awakening Ran. "I've got to get someone else to keep an eye on you tonight," he told Ran, his heart in his throat. "I have to go."

He dashed out the door and knocked frantically on the door to Hagrid's hut. He informed the slightly inebriated gamekeeper that he needed to go watch Ran, and dashed back to the school. He saw a body lying on the grass, and gasped. He limped over and found Bear lying unconscious underneath Gryffindor Tower. He had just assured himself that she was still alive when Zacharias Smith rounded the corner.

Smith yanked out his wand, then lowered it uncertainly when he recognized Drew.

"Where have you been?!" Drew screamed at him. "_This_ is what happens on your watch?"

Befuddled, Smith accepted Bear's body as Drew shoved it at him.

"Take her to the hospital wing," he snapped.

"What's going on?"

"I don't know yet. I'm going to see the Aurors. Check to see if the other students are safe. I'm bringing more help in. Alert the rest of the staff, Tyrell might be here."

Smith suddenly seemed to realize that Drew was issuing the Deputy Headmaster of the school orders. "Now, see here—" he began, but Drew was already calling a broom to get himself outside the Anti-Apparition wards as quickly as possible. A second after Drew had hopped on the broom and started speeding away, it came to Zacharias that he might be watching the Talbott girl's attacker fleeing from his reach.

He sent up sparks to alert the others patrolling the grounds and started bellowing orders.


	28. Letter 6

_Mr. Potter,_

_I wish to commend you for choosing Hogwarts as your adopted son's place of education. The students and teachers there are all very caring toward one another, and I find myself intrigued by the respect shown to werewolf rights in allowing the boy Randolph Edwards to attend. Unfortunately, this bond of trust can be misused, and it certainly has been. By me. When it is realized at the school that your son is missing, I'm sure they will inform you. However, I don't want to wait that long, so I thought I would inform you myself. But he's not really missing, after all. I have young Matthias. And you have only chance of getting the boy back._

_You see, after all this time, my search for information has gotten me nowhere, with one exception: everyone agrees that you have the knowledge I seek. So, as a matter of simple expediency, I have kidnapped your child, and will hold him hostage until you tell me how to divide my soul as The Great Lord did. I desire immortality, and I will have it. If you do not wish to help me attain this, your son will die. I will personally cut open his throat and watch the light leave those beautiful blue eyes. If this is not enough to persuade you, I may be forced to move on to your other two children, dear little Sirius and Charlotte . . . or would your lovely wife, Ginevra, be more convincing to you?_

_As I said, Mr. Potter, you have only one option. You give me the information. I will not negotiate with you. When I have the information, I will tell you where to find your son. I will send an emissary who will collect your answer._

_Most sincerely,_

_Thomas Tyrell_


	29. Chapter 22: The Strong Are Made Weak

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Strong Are Made Weak . . .

Drew popped into being in a dark alley between two hotels in Bayswater, certain the noise wouldn't even be noticed. He cast a Disillusionment charm on himself, hopped on his broom, and flew the short distance to the building for let that had not, in the past six years, ever had an offer made on it. It was falling into disrepair due to neglect, on the outside at least. He had been informed that this was the entrance to the new Ministry of Magic headquarters, should he ever need to go there. The Ministry was no longer accessible by Floo, after all that had gone wrong there. The front entrance was the only entrance. He pressed his wand to the cold glass behind which hung the sign with the number to call if one was interested in the space, and spoke his (false) name. The glass opened itself outward like two automatic doors, he stepped calmly into the dark, musty interior, and the glass swung shut again.

When the glass closed itself with a click, the lights appeared and blinded him. He shut his eyes briefly, and noticed the decaying smell being replaced with the smells of coffee, stone, and living bodies—sweat, cologne, and something indefinable but warm that simply meant "people." The sounds of footsteps and conversation filled his ears, and he opened his eyes again to find himself standing in a large foyer that was dominated by a large wooden desk that curved ever so slightly and gleamed under the light of an enormous chandelier filled with hundreds of candles. It was rather more modern than the old Ministry building, he reflected. He turned around and saw the glass window with the sign hanging in it, and the dark street outside. None of the brilliant light in here spilled out onto the street. He smiled, and walked purposefully up to the huge desk which had two women and a man sitting behind it.

"Hello, I'm looking for—"

"Wand, please," one of the women, the older one, interrupted him.

Not surprised, though annoyed at her rudeness, he handed the wand over. She handed it to the younger woman to inspect while she herself leaned over to peer at him nearsightedly, pushing up her glasses a bit.

"What brings you to the Ministry this evening?"

"I need to get to the Auror office."

The man behind the counter immediately had a wand on him. "What is your business with the Aurors?"

He took a step back, and held up his hand in defense while the other hand gripped the head of his cane with white knuckles. "I need to speak to Harry Potter."

The older woman's wand was out in a flash, and the younger toyed with his wand uncertainly, like she meant to turn it on him. Employee-in-training, he pegged her in the back of his brain. The front of his brain was a little more concerned with the threat of the other two.

"Why?"

"Something's happened at Hogwarts. I'm a professor there, Professor Stevens. I need to speak to the Aurors about this immediately."

They lowered their wands.

"We've already been informed about it," the woman said in a queer voice. "But a first-hand account would probably be valuable to them upstairs, don't you think Paul?"

The man nodded soberly. "Professor Stevens, you said?"

He nodded. "The American," he confirmed. Of course the Ministry would know about him. What he didn't understand is how they already knew about Hogwarts. Even if Smith had found the time to get a message to Potter and the Aurors, how had they already communicated it to the staff?

"He may have his wand, Anna."

The young woman handed it over tentatively, holding it like a dangerous weapon. Well, perhaps it was, sometimes. But not tonight.

Drew headed in the direction they pointed him, fearing what awaited him at the top of the stairs.

---Break---

"Go to the Burrow, and do it now, Ginny. You can't protect all three of you without help. Give Charlie a call, and get him down here to help you. I can't be worrying about you tonight, I just can't. You just make sure the kids are safe. I've got to go." The voice was suddenly softer. "Sunshine. I'll find him. I will."

Harry pulled his head out of the fire in Kingsley Shackebolt's office only long enough to tell it that he wanted to connect to Ambassador Granger-Weasley's office, and then thrust his dark head back in.

"Hermione, thank God, you're there. Listen to me very closely, and don't ask questions. Go get your kids out of school right now. Take them home, or take them somewhere safe. Do not let them out of your sight, Hermione. Not for an instant. They could be in serious danger." There was a long pause. "Tyrell's got Matt, Hermione," he said in a very strange voice. "He's got my son. He's holding him ransom for information. Yes. Go home now, and stay there until I contact you again."

His head came out of the fire again, and now he got up off his knees and turned. He saw Drew standing in the doorway, and Drew met his gaze. Up until now, he hadn't known the full truth of what had happened, though he should have guessed after seeing Bear on the ground beneath the window of Gryffindor tower. Harry's eyes were bright with tears and anxiety and his face was drawn with terror. Then something in him changed. In an instant, before Drew realized what was happening, he was being slammed against the wall and Harry was holding a wand to his throat, his breathing ragged.

"Mr. Potter," he squeezed out past the pressure the slightly shorter man's arms were putting on his chest. "I'm your son's teacher. At Hogwarts. I'm Drew Stevens."

The other man faltered. He pulled back, but kept his wand where it was. He moved his gaze over the characteristic eyepatch and cherry wood cane that Drew was certain everyone had heard about by now. They would confirm his identity for him.

"Tell me something about Matt that only his Head of house would know," Harry said, his eyes burning with both fear and anger.

"He has nightmares. About the murder of his birth parents. I sit up with him from time to time when he can't sleep. If he talks about it, he always rubs the scar on his neck where he was burned in one of the explosions." That softened Harry's eyes immensely, in fact, it filled them with tears again. "He didn't try out for Quidditch, but he spends half his time talking to his best friend Berengaria, better known as Bear, and another boy named Randolph, better known as Ran, about their team strategy and analyzing their games."

Harry drew his wand away, and Drew let out a breath of relief, but Drew still kept talking, determined to convince Harry beyond all doubt that the man he was speaking with was Drew Stevens. Because, for a moment, there had been something in Harry Potter's eyes that looked a lot like recognition.

"He spends most of his time, apart from Bear, with two Ravenclaw boys named Basil and Milt. He tells me he spent the New Year holiday with Basil Townsend's family. I have been giving all the children I've mentioned private lessons in defensive techniques just in case . . . in case something like this happened. And you don't know, Mr. Potter, how awfully sorry I am that I wasn't able to do enough. I should have been able to do more, teach him something, to keep him from being taken like this." Drew finally dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"He's such a good boy," Harry whispered painfully, and Drew nearly screamed and punched him full in the face. Harry Potter should not act like this. He would never cry like this in front of his archrival. But then, perhaps his archrival shouldn't be admitting how dearly he cared for a group of children who had wormed their way into a heart he hadn't known he had. Then again, Drew Stevens was not his archrival. Thank Merlin for that.

"I'm sorry for our rough introduction, Professor Stevens," Harry said, holding out his hand to shake it. "I should have known that you wouldn't have made it into this room if you meant me any harm."

"You think the old woman and her sidekicks at the front desk would stop someone as dangerous as Tyrell?"

Harry smiled in a very unamused way. "Let's just say you don't want to get on Georgiana's bad side, Professor. Nor Terrence's, the Auror who would have showed you in here."

"I'm sure I wouldn't," he agreed. Then he took a deep breath and said what he came to say. "Mr. Potter, you need to know something."

Harry turned startled eyes on him, and he pointed his wand again.

"Listen to me, please. I have to tell you something, and I have a condition."

"A condition," he repeated in disbelief.

"You must not ask me how I got this information. And you must trust me that what I am saying is the truth. I have no reason to lie about this, Mr. Potter. I want to see Matt safe as much as you do. Can you do that?"

Harry hesitated, obviously torn between suspicion and the need to find his son. Drew felt something he never thought he'd feel for Harry Potter. Compassion.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, tell me. Please."

"It's not Draco Malfoy that has joined Tyrell's cause."

"How do you—"

"No, you said you wouldn't ask. It is not Draco Malfoy. It is his brother."


	30. Chapter 23: And the Proud Have Fallen

Chapter Twenty-Three

. . . And the Proud Have Fallen

Harry followed the slight, limping figure of Drew Stevens up the street of a quiet but very rundown Muggle neighborhood, full of trepidation but eager to get whatever information would lead him to Matt as quickly as possible. Dan and Kingsley were directly behind him. As they walked, Drew explained the whole story, turning his head over his shoulder so they could hear his hushed tones.

"Lucius Malfoy wasn't content with his wife, you see. She was a pureblood and well-mannered, and everything he needed in the wife of a Malfoy, but she wasn't very satisfying to him. He happened to meet a Muggle woman, Merlin knows how, that he took a fancy to. She was, by his account, quite a vivacious woman. Narcissa Malfoy was never aware of his affair, of course; Lucius was capable of being very discreet. However, this Muggle woman, Carol Cross by name, became pregnant and refused to give up the child. It was a son, less than a year younger than his legitimate son and heir, whom Carol named Maximilian." Here Stevens let out a snort of what appeared to be amusement. "There are many things I don't know, I'm afraid. I don't know if Carol Cross was ever aware of Lucius' true identity. I also don't know how much Maximilian inherited from his father. I can only assume, because he has connected to Thomas Tyrell, that he is a wizard, at least marginally magical. Furthermore, I don't know if he is aware of how he got this magic."

"I've got a question," Harry grated out, nearly twitching with the effort not to grab hold of Stevens and shake him until he revealed the source of this information. "Does Draco know of him?"

There was a very slight pause. "Yes," Stevens answered. "He does."

"Somehow I can't see Lucius letting it slip to him," Harry grumbled, mostly for Dan's ears, but Stevens picked up on it.

"Oh, devious children have been known to look through their father's private correspondence from time to time. I did it myself as a child."

"I don't like this," Kingsley rumbled, taking out his wand as if he did not care a whit about the Statute of Secrecy. Well, he'd certainly done enough to change it, bringing Muggle police into the loop. "He shouldn't know so much."

A thought struck Harry, and he grabbed Stevens' arm. "Do you know him?" he asked in his most intense voice.

"Maximilian Cross? No."

"Not him. Do you know Draco Malfoy?"

"Of course not, Mr. Potter. From what I hear, Malfoy is in hiding."

Harry's frustration was at the boiling point. "Do you honestly think I don't know that? I've been looking for him for years! If he's in America, Stevens . . . you know what? Just send along a note telling him to stay there. If he's happy there, so be it. I only wanted to send him away to begin with."

Stevens was staring at him, looking horrorstruck. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes," Harry said impatiently. He'd deal with the fact that Stevens apparently had known Malfoy's whereabouts for years and never passed that along, after he got his son back. "Now can we go see this Maximilian Cross? I want my son, and I want him now."

"We're here," Stevens said, and pointed.

---Break---

The house was ghastly. It was old and tarnished, the paint was peeling, the grass was overgrown and browned, and there was old rubbish heaped by the front door. The inside was even worse. The inside contained Carol Cross.

Objectively, Drew supposed that the woman might have been attractive once, in her youth. Her hair, which was frizzy and full of gray, must have once been a lush and shiny strawberry blond. Her teeth, which hadn't received the attention of a dentist—or a toothbrush—in quite some time, were at least straight. She was of medium height, and though heavy and dumpy now, must have been sensuously curvy with very nice breasts before she tacked all the weight on. Her eyelashes still knew how to flutter, and she was employing that technique on Auror Waverly, who looked slightly disgusted by the attention.

"You said you're looking for my boy?" she asked in the sweetest voice she could muster up—not very sweet, considering the smoker's rasp and the fact that her mouth was full of chewing gum.

Drew shuddered. He'd thought the idea of Lucius Malfoy fathering a child on a Muggle was repugnant. Now he thought it was beyond repulsive and straight on into horrifying. He was suddenly very sure he'd rather search for information anywhere else, no matter how much less efficient it might be. He probably would have been out the door by now, but Harry had taken charge. Drew was still reeling from their conversation just outside. _Just send along a note. If he's happy there, so be it._ Salazar's balls, there was no way he was serious. Once they got Matt back, he'd come to his senses.

"Yes, ma'am, Maximilian Cross is your son, isn't he?" Harry asked warily.

"Yes, that's my Maxey," she said, trying to flutter. It was grotesque. It was obviously not the first time someone had come looking for her son. Drew suspected it had been the police last time, and suspected that her flirtatious technique had not worked any better on them.

"Where can we find him, ma'am?"

"Oh, call me Carol, everyone does. Maxey hasn't done anything wrong, though, not since he got out a year ago." She didn't look too convinced of her own words, but Drew had just had his suspicions confirmed. Ugh. Not only was _this_ the woman that Lucius had cheated on Narcissa with, the boy himself was a common thug. Well, common when you took out the magic part.

"I have reason to believe otherwise, ma'am." Drew was very glad when Harry steadfastly refused to call her "Carol." He gave her a very serious look that Drew would have found menacing if he hadn't been facing Harry at wandpoint not an hour ago. "Has your son been keeping any . . . odd company recently?"

The woman's face went completely blank, as though she'd taken an eraser to it. Her expression revealed nothing but slight annoyance.

"Get out of my house. I don't have to tell you a thing. You don't have any reason to be here, Maxey didn't do anything wrong. Out, out, out!"

She tried to herd them toward the front door, but with Kingsley's bulk standing quite placidly in the way, it didn't work. She seemed to have forgotten Drew, who was standing behind her.

"Your son," Harry said slowly, "has been keeping some _very_ odd company, hasn't he?"

She went white. "Oh, god. You're one of _them_, aren't you?" She spun around to include Drew, her eyes wild. "You're all, all of you are . . . you're like _him_, like Maxey's daddy!" she wailed.

There no longer seemed any point in pretending. Not that Drew had thought there was much point in the first place.

"Yes, we're all wizards," Harry told her.

She sat down in a lumpy, badly upholstered armchair, breathing wheezily. "Shit. What's he done, then?"

"Catch on quick, don't you?" Drew murmured.

Harry shot him a frustrated glare, then looked at her gravely. "He's gotten in with a bad crowd, and we need to find him. Do you know where he is?"

She nodded weakly. "He went looking for his father's house."

Harry frowned. Drew closed his eyes. Of course. Malfoy Manor. He didn't necessarily know _anything_ about Tyrell then. Nor Matt. This was a huge dead end, and now everybody knew something that had taken a great deal of effort to keep quiet. Not that it truly mattered at this point, with both Lucius and Narcissa dead. Still, it was rather a disappointment to realize they were back at square one.

"His father's dead," Harry said, trying to sound gentle.

Carol flapped her hand impatiently. "He knows that. He just wanted to find the _house_. There's things in there that he wanted. A friend of his wanted to see them."

"A friend?"

They all came quickly to attention.

"Boy called Thomas," she nodded. "A wizard." Then she shuddered. "I didn't like him much."

"No," Harry murmured. "I suppose not."

"He's been very odd since he got out of prison," she muttered to herself. "Someone in there told him what he was, that he was magic. I never wanted him to know, myself. There was a police officer, though, who said something to him . . . He said he owed so much to that man. I think he meant . . ." She shuddered again. "I don't think he meant he'd like to thank him. I don't think that Officer Dursley broke the news very gently."

"Dursley?" Harry repeated anxiously.

She nodded slowly. "That's what he called him."

"Well, that's just perfect," Harry said, throwing his hands into the air. "Now the little delinquent is after my cousin as well. And he's only just had the nerve to come out of hiding."

"At least we know he's with Tyrell," Drew pointed out, trying not to sound as though his chest was as constricted as it actually was.

"True. Well, come on, everybody, back to the office, we've got to work out a plan to trap him."

---Break---

"I want a word with you privately," Drew muttered in Harry's ear as they reentered the Auror office. Harry nodded and they withdrew to the empty corridor. This late, there weren't many people at the Ministry—mostly just the Aurors coming off duty from patrolling the watched sites and trying to track down any word from the underworld on Matt's kidnapping.

"I have a plan to get our hands on Cross."

"This ought to be good," Harry said, arms over his chest.

Drew shot him a narrow look out of his one good eye and hoped it was effective.

"Call a false alarm on one of your other locations. Say you've had a sighting at the Riddle house or something, and draw your guards off Malfoy manor to go there. Cross will be there in a heartbeat."

"Don't you think he'll know it's a trap?"

"Not if he sees someone else go inside. Someone who might be able to gain his trust."

His breath was coming up short now. He had no way to break the news gently, but this was his only plan for getting Matt back any time soon. And with what they knew of Tyrell—and what he'd gleaned about Cross from the conversation with his mother—getting Matt back _now_ was the only way to ensure they'd get him back in one piece.

"There's no one on my side who can do that," Harry frowned.

He gritted his teeth and steeled his nerves. Which amused him very slightly. He really had been a coward, once.

"There's one person. Draco Malfoy could do it."

Harry squinted at him. "So you are in contact with him. Well, if you think you can get him over here quickly enough, and get him on my side—not likely—then do it. If it helps, tell him I'll see he receives a full pardon for his services."

He felt his lips trembling slightly as he tried to smile. "And here I thought you were more likely to kill me on sight," he said. Then he used his wand to Vanish the brown dye from his hair.

Harry stared at the suddenly blond man in front of him in complete and utter shock. His mouth was hanging open most unbecomingly.

"Malfoy?" he whispered.

"Really, Potter, if you've any reflexes at all, you'd have had your wand out by now," he said, trying for the drawl he'd affected in his teenage years.

"You— all this time, you've—"

"Been teaching at Hogwarts, yes." He rolled his eyes, then rolled up his sleeve. "Look, it's me. See? Here's where I burned off the Dark Mark, just like I told you when you came for Voldemort. You remember how sore I was?"

Harry nodded like a marionette or a mechanical robot. "I remember."

"This may be very hard for you to believe, but . . . I'm sorry. I care very much about Matt, and I am on your side."

Harry looked like he was trying to get his head around that. At least he was making the effort.

"Now send out the false alarm, Potter. I'm going to my house to convince my illegitimate brother to tell me where your son is."


	31. Chapter 24: I Am Draco Malfoy

Chapter Twenty-Four

I Am Draco Malfoy

He watched as the two Aurors assigned to guard his family's ancestral home staged a loud conversation about a possible sighting at the Riddle home. They weren't very good actors, he thought critically, but his judgment was a bit skewed by his own excellent performance over the past several years. Still, he didn't think Maximilian Cross was likely to be an acting critic. He would just be biding his time, waiting to get inside to steal whatever the Ministry hadn't taken when it raped the place after the war.

As he waited for a sight of Cross, he fretted. Having revealed himself to Harry, his future looked uncertain again. Harry hadn't told anyone who he really was, not yet, and the rest of the Aurors so blindly trusted the man that they followed his directives without questioning how on earth this Drew Stevens character was going to get Cross to talk. Of course, they hadn't seen him blond. But it remained to be seen what Harry was going to do with this information after they got Matt back. With any luck, he'd be allowed to go back to New York quietly. He didn't want that, he thought with frustration. Tuck's life was not his life. Bonnie was not his little girl. Hogwarts was his place now, and those kids were his kids. He didn't want to leave them. Yet here he was, putting himself at risk of giving it all up just because he refused to let harm come to a boy he'd already caused so much pain.

He thought he caught a flash of movement against the corner of the building, far beyond him. He'd tucked himself into a hedge to watch. Now that the Aurors were safely away, he strolled out into the open, bold as brass. He approached the door, wondering if any of the wards still held—likely not, since the Ministry had gotten in. They must have fizzled out with the absence of any Malfoys to renew them. He slipped inside, and looked around.

Raped was the wrong word, perhaps. The furniture was still here, and in remarkably good condition. The portraits of several generations of Malfoys still hung in a tasteful arrangement in the foyer and leading down the hall to the formal parlour. The parlour, last time he'd been here, had contained a single portrait of him with his parents they'd had done when he became a prefect at Hogwarts. Everything that was missing was suspect, to put it delicately. Dark and dangerous might be a more apt description. Still, it upset him on a surprisingly deep level that anyone had forced entry into this place and taken anything—_his_ house, and _his_ things. Still, he ought to be grateful that the Ministry had used such a light touch. They didn't seem to have known what to do with the place after they'd seized it, so they'd basically abandoned it to collect dust and wait for it to become useful in some way.

He knew he should be thinking of a way to convince Cross of who he was and what he wanted—for all his bravado in front of Harry, he hadn't the foggiest what to say—but instead his feet carried him to his old bedroom. Black predominated, with green and gray to accent it. It was absent the textbooks and broomstick he remembered leaving here; appropriate items had probably been donated to poorer students at Hogwarts. He abruptly felt a tear track down his cheek, when he hadn't even realized he was feeling sad. He hated this place for many reasons, but somehow it felt good to be here again. It upset him that he was turning into an overemotional freak, he'd been a proud stoic for the last five years. Bitter nostalgia was _such_ a bitch. At least he didn't have to walk in and find his owl dead on the floor or something, the Ministry had obviously removed any living creatures, including their house elf.

There was a scuffling noise behind him. He whipped around, his wand out, even though he was quite sure he knew who it was. Force of habit.

He started staring and couldn't stop. He gazed on the face that would have been his, if not for Longbottom, and was amazed. He and his disgusting half-brother could almost have been twins. A thick spill of blond hair. Sharp eyes to match sharp, pointed features, a face as cruelly handsome as Lucius' had been. Cross was a bit thicker than he was, and a couple of inches shorter, but beyond that they would have been nearly identical (would have been, but Cross apparently had never had half his face caved in with a pipe).

"You must be Maximilian Cross," he said, forcing himself to act calmly. "The one who came here before."

"That's right, I am," Cross said in the most perversely uneducated tones. "What's it to you?"

"I'm glad to meet you," he offered. "I'm interested in helping an acquaintance of yours, Thomas Tyrell."

"That minger in the newspaper? What makes you think I know him?"

"Your mother mentioned him."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's my mother got to do with anything?"

"Nothing at all. I simply called on her looking for you."

"You're a wizard, are you?" Cross asked, looking at his wand with something like greed. He obviously didn't have one.

"Yes. Can you introduce me to Tyrell or can't you?"

"Supposing I could. Why would I?"

"Because if Tyrell found out he had a loyal ally that you tried to keep from him, he'd likely kill you. He doesn't seem to have a problem with killing, does he?"

There was a flicker in Cross' expression. Yes, he was afraid of Tyrell, or at least wary of him. Good. He could be manipulated.

"Are you a wizard, Cross?"

"Yes," he answered aggressively. He'd been challenged, then. Probably because he was so inexperienced, rather than any particular lack of talent. He was of Malfoy blood, after all. Although one had to wonder how he'd slipped past the eyes of the entire wizarding world for so long. Perhaps he'd been afraid of his talent and kept it well-hidden. Now that he knew what it was, he probably wouldn't do so anymore.

"And why are you here?"

"Looking for some stuff," he grunted, his eyes narrow.

"What makes you think you've any right to take what's in this house? Do you work for the Ministry?"

"Bloody Ministry. I wouldn't work for them if the other option was a life sentence."

He raised his eyebrows and waited for more.

Cross smiled slyly. "Ministry aren't the only ones with rights to what's here, though, are they? If you know who I am, you ought to know why I'm here."

"You've discovered that Lucius Malfoy was your father."

"Right old bastard, from what I hear. Nice house, though."

"My dear fellow, being the illegitimate child of a previous owner does not automatically give you the rights to the property."

"You know someone with a better claim?"

"As it happens, I do."

"How do you know so much, anyway? You know plenty about me, seems like."

"I know a great many things. Things that your friend Tyrell might like to know, too," he reminded him of his ostensible purpose here. "Are you going to take me to Tyrell or not?"

"You're into the Dark Arts, eh? Well, Tyrell wants more than that out of his allies. He wants people committed to a single vision. Reclaim bloody Voldemort's empire."

"A vision you don't seem to share."

"One vision's good as another to me. I just want somebody to show me about the magic. Tyrell said he would show me what to do if I brought him some things from my father's house."

"I see. Well, this house no longer belongs to Lucius Malfoy, so you can't take anything you want."

"Oh, you think we ought to ask the Ministry? Maybe if we say please they'll allow us in to get what we need?"

"Actually, I rather doubt the Ministry left anything Tyrell wants here. But no, it's not the Ministry's permission you need. The ownership of this house was to pass to Lucius' eldest son in the event of his death. And you are not his eldest son."

"You're talking about that other one, Draco. Well, he went into hiding and he's not coming out, is he? I might be a bastard, but I've still got a claim here."

"No, you don't."

"Look here, who do you think you are?"

He drew himself erect and looked the two inches down to Cross with all the poise and elegance of pureblood breeding and training.

"I am Draco Malfoy. This is my house, and if you're not going to take me to Tyrell, you may remove yourself from the premises."


	32. Letter 7

_Potter, this is a map to the place where Tyrell is hiding. It's an abandoned warehouse where some of Cross' less savory acquaintances do business. Cross says he's got Matt there. We're on our way there now. He doesn't trust me, so I don't much expect to come out of this in one piece, but on the off-chance I do—try to keep it quiet. I don't want the students to know who I am._

_This is supposed to be a note to my girlfriend telling her I won't be home tonight, by the way. You are not "My Sweetheart," no matter what the envelope says, so don't get your hopes up. Be there in two hours. I'll get Matt out by then, so he doesn't get caught in the middle of a fight. We'll meet you back at the Auror office as soon as possible._

_Draco_


	33. Chapter 25: Lord Tyrell

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lord Tyrell

Matt was exhausted. He had tried to sneak out of the tower sometime in the evening, and they'd brought him here, and he'd been sitting here tied up for hours. It wasn't daylight yet, there was a little slit of a window that would tell him if it was, but it could be anytime before full dawn. All he really knew was that it was way past his bedtime.

He hadn't been tired at first. In all the excitement of being abducted and carried off, of worrying about Bear after she'd been Stunned ten feet in the air—the sight of her still body sprawled in the grass was there every time he closed his eyes—and what with all the death threats, he'd had a busy night. His mind had been going in circles. He'd spent at least an hour or two trying to wiggle out of the twists of packing twine he was tied with, while the others argued about what to do with him and didn't pay attention.

His blackened eye ached and throbbed, and Matt wished Mum were here, or Grandma. They'd put some ice on it, give him something to take down the swelling. They'd hold him for a minute and at least give him the illusion that everything was all right. But what was the use of wishing for that? Nothing was all right, not now.

He glared at Thomas Tyrell with the one eye he had available to him at the moment. Tyrell had finally noticed him trying to break free of his bonds, and had walked over to where he was curled on the ground, and had _kicked_ him. In the _face_. Matt's eye was almost completely swollen shut, and it really hurt. Not as much compared to the pain of having the entire side of his face burned when he was six, but that had been healed pretty quickly. Matt's eye had been bruised for hours and hours. Once Tyrell had caught him trying, he'd made sure Matt couldn't make any more attempts. He'd had one of his little henchman tie the twine tighter, and then tie Matt's hands to his ankles behind his back. His shoulders were aching badly from being pulled into such an awkward position. The corners of his lips were sore and rubbed raw from trying to bite past the gag they'd tied onto his mouth. He didn't think he'd ever get rid of the taste of the sweaty cotton handkerchief, no matter how many times he brushed his teeth.

If he ever brushed his teeth again, he thought miserably, still glaring at Tyrell and nearly hoping the evil boy would take notice. Tyrell had been getting more and more agitated as Harry Potter continued to fail to mobilize his forces, or respond in any way. He'd sent one of his followers to see Dad for his answer two hours ago, and the man had come back with the message that Dad wasn't paying up unless he saw some proof of his son's wellbeing. Tyrell was pissed off that Dad wasn't shaking in fear of him, and utterly unable to think of a way to prove that Matt was alive and well that wouldn't get him caught or cause him to lose the valuable hostage. Tyrell's mood was rubbing off on Matt, not to mention the ache in Matt's back, eye, and hands and feet. Actually, his hands and feet were more numb at this point. Either way, he'd stopped crying by now, and was nearly to the point of sleep.

Tyrell did notice him, and turned to face him fully, cocking his head to the side mockingly to meet Matt's gaze while Matt lay on the ground. "What do you think, Matthias?" he said, his voice deceptively pleasant. "Do you think Daddy would accept a vial of my memory of this moment as proof you're alive?"

Matt, gagged, was unable to answer, but Tyrell seemed to enjoy asking him questions anyway.

"Do you think seeing you all tied up would make him anxious to give me what I want? Or should I give him a memory of your blood?"

Tyrell had a little knife in his hand. Matt's good eye widened with fear, and he strained against his bonds uselessly. It made his wrists and ankles wake up and flare with pain. Tyrell chuckled.

"You know, after I get the information from Potter," Tyrell said conversationally to one of his friends, "I might keep the boy. He's such a fun toy."

The man grunted, sounding amused, but when Tyrell turned away from him, the man rolled his eyes. Matt wished he could smile, but the gag was hurting his mouth, so he worked to keep his face straight.

"Where in blazes is Max, anyway?" Tyrell snapped, his mood abruptly turning. His moods did that a lot. Matt had seen him joyous, depressed, angry, laughing, and deadly cold in the space of the last few hours. "It doesn't take all night to pick up a few artifacts from an abandoned building."

"Probably stopped off to sell them to some fool and steal them back," someone said in a sour voice. No one really liked Max, Matt didn't think.

Matt thought he was the only one who knew Max's real identity, and as he had a gag in his mouth, he hadn't told. Max wasn't a Muggleborn, and his mysterious access to the Malfoy house wasn't all that mysterious to Matt. Max was Draco Malfoy. It had to be him. The face he'd seen from his bedroom door when he was a small boy had been in this room only a few hours ago, had been there at Hogwarts to help restrain him. And that was why Matt didn't want to go to sleep. He was afraid that if he did, Malfoy would come back, just like he had five years ago, and blow the place all to hell. That would be something Dad couldn't ignore, just like before. He could do it again, Matt fretted, and this time, Matt was all tied up and he wouldn't be able to get away.

Still, he would have welcomed the sight of Dad and Aunt Tonks rushing in to save him. He was drifting into sleep, although he didn't realize it, and visions of flames and blood and wild blue hair were waiting behind the soothing darkness in sleep. He tried to fight it, tried to stay awake. He didn't want that, not now. He was having enough trouble keeping it together as it was.

The only other thing he could think about was Bear. What if she was dead? She'd fallen off their improvised rope, and her body had made a terrible thud when she hit the ground, and she hadn't moved at all. She had only been coming along to protect him, she was always trying to protect him, and now she might be dead. Matt tried not to cry. He'd cried earlier and Tyrell and Malfoy had just sat there and mocked him until he got angry enough to stop. Now the effort of not crying was keeping him awake, so he welcomed it. He tried to lay still, to hold the pain at bay, to hold the creeping panic back.

Tyrell had been pacing and muttering to himself, while his four friends gave him a wide berth. He'd slashed one of them open earlier, and though it had been healed, there was still a huge stain of dried blood on his shirt. "Well, I'll just have to continue without him, then. It's not as though I really need any of that stuff. I'll be immortal by noon," Tyrell laughed.

He walked over to Matt. Matt held himself still, and fought to breathe carefully. It was harder to breathe, with the gag, and he didn't want to work himself up so he was breathing too hard. He didn't want to die, oh, please, no, _I don't want to die, don't hurt me, no, leave me alone!_

"Unhhhh," he whimpered, while Tyrell put a knife to his swollen eye.

"I think we'll just bring the swelling down. Would you like that, Matt?"

Matt didn't know that the injury was too old for that to be of any use, but Tyrell did, and Harry likely would, too. He jabbed into the swollen skin just at the browbone, apparently not ready to damage Matt's eye yet. Matt screamed against the gag, more from anger than fear, and a great deal of pain as he involuntarily bucked his body in an escape attempt. Warm blood flowed down his cheek and he could feel it soaking into the gag. He shuddered at the taste of his own blood, and sobbed. Tyrell laughed with an awful childish delight, like Sirius laughed when he was running Mum ragged. Matt cried helplessly.

Tyrell stood up, nearly giggling, and grabbed an empty bottle of rum. He put his wand to his temple and drew silvery threads away from his head, directing them cautiously into the bottle he held.

"That ought to do it," he said. "Don't you think?" he asked his accomplice.

The man hesitated, looking doubtful. "Potter might be angry. Sir, I—"

"Don't say 'sir' to me, West!" Tyrell shouted, gripping both bottle and wand tightly. "You will call me 'Lord'!"

"You ain't a lord yet, Tyrell!" the man shouted back.

Tyrell's anger abruptly vanished, and he looked at West coolly. "You think not?"

That gave West pause, and he licked his thin lips. "Well, I—"

"_Avada Kedavra_," Tyrell said, his face and voice as dead as West was a moment later as the green light faded. "I have no use," he said calmly, turning to his remaining three associates, "for the disloyal. Is there anyone else who does not wish to call me Lord?"

The other three stared at West and said nothing. Possibly didn't even breathe, Matt thought, for it was so quiet.

Then the door opened and laughter filled the room as two men entered in obviously high spirits.

"I like that one," Max was chortling. "You're a cruel man, you are."

Tyrell turned on them fiercely. "Max. You're late, you're empty-handed, and you've brought a man I don't know into my place. Give me a reason not to kill you right now."

Max's eyes fell on West and he stopped laughing. He went pale. Then he smiled like a predator. "I'm not empty-handed. I've brought you something you're going to love."

"And what's that?" Tyrell snapped.

Max swept his hand toward the figure beside him.

Matt gasped through his gag, and stared. _Professor Stevens?_

"I've brought you Draco Malfoy. He's going to get your information from Potter."

Matt felt his heart skip a beat. He looked at his professor in shock. How was that possible, when Max was the real Draco Malfoy?

"See, that's what I didn't tell you about myself," Max said, obviously enjoying the moment. "I'm Lucius' bastard boy that nobody knew about. That's how I was going to get you Malfoy's stuff. So imagine my surprise," he laughed, "when I get there and find my long-lost half-brother already inside! And he tells me, I'll have to be real polite if I want his stuff!" He was lost in a fit of amusement.

Tyrell turned to . . . to the man Matt had thought was his professor—no, _was_ his professor, but was apparently something a bit more than that—and met his gaze. The one-eyed, blond-haired man was calm and impenetrable. Tyrell smiled like a boy who was receiving a Christmas gift.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said, and held out his hand.

Draco Malfoy, the bane of Matt's nightmares and the Head of Gryffindor House, shook it. "I'm here to help, Lord Tyrell."

Then he flicked his gaze to Matt. Matt knew he was crying, he was so shocked, but he jutted out his chin and fixed the man with the most ferocious stare he could muster up.

"Let's talk business, Mr. Malfoy," Tyrell said gleefully.

As Tyrell turned away . . . Malfoy winked.


	34. Chapter 26: Big Damn Hero

Chapter Twenty-Six

Big Damn Hero

Matt was still laying on the ground, his ears buzzing for some reason he couldn't fathom. He was trying very hard to think through what he'd seen, but he was so tired and in so much pain, and he was afraid. He was trying to decide whether he'd actually seen what he thought he'd seen. Professor Stevens—Draco Malfoy—may have possibly winked at him, and Matt might possibly just be so overwhelmed that he was seeing things. It was hard to determine, because Malfoy was completely ignoring him now. If he had winked, and it was meant to be reassurance of some kind, it wasn't working, Matt thought with frustration. Of course, since Malfoy was so evil, he might just have been trying to make Matt angry. Like Matt needed to be any angrier. He'd been kidnapped, they might have killed his friend, and his parents and little brother were likely worried sick. As if all that weren't enough, Tyrell had _kicked_ him, in the _face_, and then he'd _stabbed_ him in the _eye_. Matt was bloody livid. And afraid. And just exhausted.

Tyrell hadn't wanted to trust Malfoy, Matt had judged as he'd watched them talk. Tyrell had been angry when Malfoy had reported the Ministry's confiscation of the Dark artifacts he'd been after. But he respected Malfoy, in a way he didn't respect any other members of his crew. He wasn't willing to harm Malfoy, and Malfoy refused to be threatened. In a scary way, too. He didn't scowl at being threatened and say he wouldn't help if Tyrell didn't leave off. He'd simply ignored Tyrell's moods as if they meant nothing—a sign of power and control. Matt didn't think Tyrell liked it. He'd gotten surlier and surlier as they talked, and as Malfoy proved himself more knowledgeable about this sort of negotiation and about the current governmental system . . . and about Dad. Of course, maybe Tyrell was just tired, like Matt was. Matt had gone beyond the point of wanting to sleep, and into a state of stupor as though he'd been drugged.

He hated Draco Malfoy. That he was sure of. How dare the man act like such a good teacher and be so helpful to Matt and his friends? How _dare_ he sit there and listen to Matt talk about his nightmares, like he _cared_? It made Matt angry again to think of that, so he tried to put it out of his mind. Anger made him tense, and the tension made him hurt all that much more, so he was staying as relaxed as he could. He didn't know how long they'd leave him tied up like this.

Not long, apparently, for Tyrell and Malfoy suddenly turned to him with an air of finality that said they'd arrived at some conclusion. Max Cross was looking at him, too, the man he'd mistaken for Draco, the man who was apparently his brother.

"Then we do it my way?" Malfoy drawled, looking certain already that the answer would be affirmative. And indeed it was.

"Yes," Tyrell grunted, looking none too pleased.

"Good," Malfoy said, and stepped toward Matt with a knife. Matt screamed against his gag, and tried to squirm away.

---Break---

Draco wanted to go away, crawl in a hole, and die as he approached Matt. Matt was so afraid of him that he was writhing in his restraints and causing himself obvious pain, trying to get away. His uninjured eye was wide with panic and he was actually trying to scream past the blood-and-saliva soaked handkerchief tied between his lips—tied so tightly, he saw, that Matt's mouth was bleeding, too. He didn't know how to comfort Matt, though, not here, not in front of Tyrell. The next few minutes depended on him keeping his cool and not alerting them to his intentions—just until he was sure Harry had gotten his message, then he could get the hell out of here. He'd managed to maintain a cool composure so far, and he'd been viciously happy to see how much Tyrell resented his presence and craved it at the same time. This boy was no Dark Lord, not yet. Cruel and violent, sure, but not cunning nor charming. It would have been fun to bring the boy down a few pegs if not for the fact of Matt's presence keeping him entirely focused on his purpose here.

He reached out and cut the bit of twine that locked Matt's hands and feet together, then cut the twine around his wrists. Matt, already laying on the floor, suddenly collapsed, and then cried out in pain as blood flooded through his cramped muscles and numb fingers. He screamed and sobbed and it was all Draco could do not to scream and sob with him. He bent so he was looking at Matt closely, and said in the coldest voice he could muster up,

"Listen to me. You are going to write a letter to your father. You're going to ask him to please give Lord Tyrell the information he requires. If he does this, you get to go home. I want you to plead with him to do as Lord Tyrell says, so that we don't hurt you anymore. Do you understand?"

He hauled Matt up by the shoulders. "Bring some paper, Cross."

"I'm not your servant," Cross growled. "I'm your goddamned brother."

"You? You're Lucius' half-blooded bastard. It does not in any way make us family. Now get me a sheet of paper if you want to see anything past this room ever again." That part, he didn't really have to draw on any acting skills for. Max Cross had not endeared himself to Draco over the course of the last hour.

Cross fetched the paper and a quill, grumbling all the way, and Draco set in on the floor in front of Matt. "Now you're going to write the letter." Matt just sat there. "You may begin, Mr. Potter."

Matt glared at all of them in turn and sat without moving a muscle. Draco was so proud of him he nearly laughed aloud, but he instead glared back, and turned toward Tyrell.

"Give me a minute alone with the boy. I think I can make him . . . see reason," he said ominously. They didn't like that, but they did it. As soon as they shut the door, he let his shoulders fall with relief at the sudden release of tension. Being in the same room with those two was utterly nerve-wracking.

"Now, listen, Matt," he said, "we've only got a minute. Your dad will be on his way with the Aurors any second, I told him how to find this place." Matt looked stunned, and was suddenly much more ready to listen. "As soon as Tyrell and Cross come through those doors, I'm going to Stun them and we're going to run. I don't want you to be here when the Aurors come in and start throwing spells around. You're going to run as fast as you can, okay?"

Matt shook his head, and tried to say something.

"Oh, right. I'm going to take this out, but you have to whisper, all right?"

Matt nodded. He removed the gag, and Matt's hands shot to his mouth to wipe at his lips. Draco winced at the sight of his swollen hands and raw wrists.

"Oh, Matt, I'm sorry."

Matt glared at him. "You're _sorry_?" he repeated in a furious whisper. "You killed my parents."

Draco should have known this was coming, but he hadn't thought about it. The words were like getting stabbed—stabbed in the heart. But he also had to conceal his impatience. They didn't have time for this right now. They had to gear up and get out of here.

"Matt, you have no idea how sorry I am, but we'll have to talk about it later."

"I'm not going anywhere with _you_, you murderer."

He closed his eyes. "Matt, when I tell you to, just run, okay? You don't have to go with me. Just go."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Matt's eyes were full to spilling with angry, passionate tears. "I can't get up. My feet . . ."

"Shit." He didn't know what to say, he had absolutely no idea, so he just met Matt's furious eyes and tried to look sincere. "Matt, I'm going to have to carry you out, then. You can't be here when the Aurors come in, and I won't let Tyrell use you for a bargaining chip if it goes wrong. I'm getting you out of here."

"Why do you care?" Matt said, so upset that his voice was barely a whisper, and his tears spilled over.

Oh, damn it all to hell. Draco felt a few tears on his own face, and batted them away impatiently. "Matt." He had to clear his throat. "Matt, please, please just trust me. Just for a few minutes. After that, you'll be safe with your dad, and you don't ever have to trust me again. Just let me get you to safety."

Matt cried, but he said nothing more. Draco took it for acceptance of the situation and quickly cut the tie around Matt's ankles, which he'd neglected thus far. Then he turned to face the door, wand at the ready. A few seconds later, Tyrell and Cross walked in. Seeing Draco's wand, Cross shouted, and Tyrell grabbed for his own. Draco's spells caught them both in the chest, just a quick one-two, and then he levitated Matt and said,

"Let's go!"

He flung poor, aching Matt forward and limped past the gasping forms of his enemies and out the door.

"When did I get so damned heroic?" he muttered.

He got them outside, and looked wildly up and down the dingy street. Which way? There was someone standing walking there across the street, and he didn't want to Disapparate in front of them. He shielded Matt's body with his so the Muggle couldn't see that Matt was floating a few inches off the ground.

"Is that a church?" Matt asked, pointing at the large building rising up against the pale gray of the dawning sky.

"Yes."

"Go there."

"Why?"

"Mr. Townsend says churches have power. I'll be safe there. You leave me there and don't ever come near me again."  
Draco didn't argue. He took Matt to the church, with no intention of leaving him alone there. As soon as they were inside, he'd get him back to the Ministry building to wait for Harry to return from capturing Tyrell. As he shouldered open the heavy wooden door, keeping his wand trained on Matt to avoid dropping him in a heap, there was an enraged shout. Tyrell and Cross had recovered and were running toward them, and Tyrell's wand was pointed at Matt.

"No!"


	35. Chapter 27: Above All, the Right Thing

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Above All, the Right Thing

Draco was lost for a moment in the panic of seeing a wand held on the boy he was protecting, and having his own wand tied up in the business of keeping that boy moving since he was in too much pain to move under his own power. He froze. Matt's swollen and uncooperative fingers somehow managed to grab Draco's wand from him, and he immediately crumpled to the ground. He yelped in pain, but in the same expelled breath and with the weight of all his feelings over the last night behind it, he screamed out,

"Stupefy!"

It was telling that he aimed for Cross, the less magically dangerous man, but Tyrell was distracted when the jet of red light struck his ally. Matt's spell pounded into him and stopped his momentum enough to nearly drive him backward. He fell so hard he bounced off the pavement on the street.

"Wha . . . good one, Matt," Draco muttered in surprise.

"Stupefy!" Matt shouted again, but Tyrell got a shield up and was only rocked a bit.

With a cry of rage, Tyrell bolted after them. Matt seemed to have used up everything he had. Draco grabbed him under the arms and dragged him inside. He tried to slam the door shut on Tyrell, but the young man slammed into the door before it had latched, and Draco, already off-balance with trying to drag a nearly twelve-year-old boy along on a bum leg, was thrown back and nearly tripped. Tyrell entered to find Matt on the cold, scuffed, wooden floor, and Draco straightening up and getting a better grip on his cane.

Tyrell smiled one of his awful, pleased smiles, and pointed his wand directly at Draco's chest. Draco's heart was pounding, and he flicked his eyes to Matt, who had dropped the wand from his fumbling hand, and who was staring back at him. His last words, he thought wildly, even as he wondered how he had time for it.

"Tell everyone I'm sorry." He gave Matt a sickly smile, wishing he had the time to apologize properly for what he'd done. Wishing he'd gotten the opportunity to hear Matt forgive him, though he never should have allowed himself to hope for that to begin with. Then Tyrell spoke just as he did.

"Matt, _get up and run_!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

---Break---

Matt gasped and flinched when he heard Tyrell speak the killing curse. He tried to obey Malfoy's final command, but his feet wouldn't cooperate. He fell only a step into his flight, and from his vantage point on the floor, he saw the most confusing thing in the world. Malfoy's legs, angling up above him. Malfoy was still standing. Matt twisted his head to stare up at Tyrell.

"What?" Tyrell said, barely breathing. He stared at his wand. "What is this?" He pointed the wand at Malfoy again. "Avada Kedavra!" he screamed. There was no green light, and Malfoy was still standing. Matt was amazed. He'd seen Tyrell kill with that curse already. "Why isn't it working?" Tyrell screamed, his face red with anger.

"It's the church," Matt said, then shrunk back as Tyrell turned on him.

"What about the church?"

"It's a place of power, like Mr. Townsend says." Matt hadn't been sure he believed it, but he should have known. Basil's father was just like he was—intelligent and self-confident. He wouldn't make a claim he didn't have support for. "It must have parishioners who really believe. It cancels magic like that."

"I'd heard that," Malfoy said in a slow, cautious voice, "but I never believed it."

"No doubt your father told you that," Tyrell sneered.

"No," he answered in that same slow way. It was almost like he couldn't believe he was speaking at all. "Voldemort did."

"_You call him 'Lord'_!" Tyrell shrieked, his eyes completely mad.

Malfoy smiled, but there was nothing happy in that smile. "I did. Never again. You made a mistake, Tyrell. You assumed I had some reason to want to see Voldemort's empire restored." Then he rolled up his sleeve, and Matt realized he'd never seen his teacher's bare arm before. He thought he'd see a Dark Mark tattooed there, but he didn't. There was only a mass of scar tissue. "I didn't like it the first time. You see, Tyrell? I burned his mark from me. I came here for Matt, and for that reason only."

Tyrell quivered in impotent rage. "I will kill you," he vowed in a whisper. "I'll kill you, Malfoy."

"You're a pureblood, aren't you Tyrell? Did your father teach you to fence?"

"No."

"Then you know nothing of the rigorous training, the hours it takes to become good enough to touch at precisely the place you mean to with such a long instrument?"

"No."

"Good," he said with a real smile this time. Then he hoisted up his cane with a quick flick of his wrist, lunged forward, and jabbed Tyrell in the throat. Tyrell gagged as Malfoy leapt back clumsily. He stared at Malfoy in shock, and clutched at his throat. He tried to breathe, but it was a poor little rasp of air, not enough. He fell to his knees, still staring, then to his hands and knees, and finally he broke eye contact when he lay down on the floor and curled up in a ball. Matt scooted away from him, and looked up at Draco Malfoy, who had saved him tonight.

Malfoy stood where he was, and watched Matt with a sorrowful look, as they listened to the ugly gasps of Tyrell as he suffocated ever so slowly. Matt tried to think. His mind had become so sharp for a moment, and he'd released a flood of magic at Cross and Tyrell that had almost scared him. Then his brain had gone fuzzy again. He still couldn't seem to marshall his thoughts into order. They floated about, and the only thing he could really fix in his head was that the words Malfoy had wanted to speak before dying were words of apology. Malfoy was sorry. He'd come to save Matt tonight. He'd risked his life to keep Tyrell from hurting him and maybe to keep him from becoming like Voldemort. Malfoy had done a very good thing.

"Ma— Mr. Malfoy?"

The man, his teacher, the only enemy he'd ever really had, frowned at him. "You know, I liked 'Professor Stevens' a lot more."

"Thank you," Matt said, hating how squeaky his voice sounded. His whole body ached and he just let himself float and ignore it.

The door opened. They both stiffened.

"Dad!"

"Matt, oh, thank Merlin, Matt!"

Dad ran to him and gathered him up and the pain in his shoulders meant nothing, nothing at all.

"Matt, you're all right," Dad said, several times. "You're safe now. Everything's all right."

"I know," he said, and tried not to let Dad see how much the hugs hurt. "Dad . . . Malfoy. That's Draco Malfoy."  
Dad looked up at the man, who was still standing very still. "I know, Matt. It's okay."

"I know it is. He rescued me."

"Yeah," Dad said in a weird voice. He sounded almost like he was choking, choking like Tyrell, now laying dead on the floor. He was looking at Malfoy still. "He did."

---Break---

Harry held his son in his arms, even though Matt was far too big for his lap. He'd sent word to Ginny that he was safe, and he was waiting for her to arrive so they could go to St. Mungo's together. In the meantime, he sat in Kingsley's office and held Matt, who was practically delirious with exhaustion but unable to sleep. He'd asked about Bear three times, seeming unable to remember that Harry had already assured him that she'd suffered no damage and he'd see her soon.

Draco Malfoy sat in the office with him. His face was drawn with weariness and shadows darkened his eyes. His first question, upon returning to the office, was if the werewolf Ran Edwards was okay. Once he'd found out that Hagrid had sat with him all night, he asked whether any other students at Hogwarts had been injured. Then he asked if they'd taken Max Cross into custody. They had not. There'd been no sign of him, and they assumed he'd run off to hide until he got the opportunity to go after Dudley, who was already being watched on Harry's orders. Finally, Draco slunk into the office to await whatever fate was in store for him.

He had one final question, it seemed, this one for Harry and Harry alone. "What are you going to do with me?" he asked softly. "The only people who know Drew Stevens' real identity are in this room. May I please just go? Like you said when we went to Cross' house?"

Matt muttered something incoherent, and Harry instinctively cradled his son's head against his chest. "Shh, just rest." He refocused on Draco, feeling very uncertain and at the same time absolutely sure of what he was doing. "You really care about the students, don't you?"

The blond wizard nodded, sighing out a deep breath. "That's my whole life, Potter. That school is everything to me."

"Where would you go, then?"

He shrugged. "Back to New York, I suppose. My friends there would be happy enough to have me back."

"The ones who doctored the records to give you a past?" Harry guessed.

"Yes."

"You don't want to go back?"

"No."

"Why are you here, Malfoy? What do you want?"

"A life," the man said desperately. "I want to make up for what I've done. I want to teach, I love to teach. Hogwarts is my home, now. Harry," he addressed him, and met his eyes soberly. Being addressed by his first name stunned Harry, and he nodded at Draco to continue. "Please. Don't tell the kids who I am. When I go. Make something up, anything. Just . . . I don't want them to know what I did." His eyes fell on Matt, and Harry held him tighter despite himself. "Matt? You won't tell, will you?"

Matt shifted a bit so he could look at Draco. He seemed confused. "I think I owe you for saving me."

"No," Draco said. "You don't owe me anything. I could never do enough to make up for what I've already done to you."

"Just don't kill anybody else," Matt mumbled, and his eyes closed. He buried his face in Harry's shirt again.

Draco looked miserable. "No. I don't want to do that."

"You really have changed, haven't you?" Harry asked, trying to comprehend the dramatic difference between the man in front of him and boy he'd last seen nigh on six years ago. He didn't want to believe it, but then, he'd stopped believing Draco was heartless on a fateful night while hiding under a cloak on the Astronomy Tower.

He smiled a little. "So says the Sorting Hat."

"What?"

"McGonagall made me wear the hat. To decide if I could be Head of Gryffindor. The hat remembered me, but it just spoke in my head about that. It remembered who I was, and how easy it had been to place me before. It told me that I was different. It told me that once I stopped being so concerned about myself, I'd gotten a lot more mature. It asked me if I wanted to become Head of Gryffindor. I . . . Merlin, I wanted to help McGonagall out, so I said I didn't mind. And it said that proved I had grown beyond the divisions of the houses, and only that made me capable of being a good leader for the students. It even told me it wished they would let it judge all the heads like this to make sure they were ready for it."

Harry reflected that the last time he and Draco had talked this much, Voldemort had been lying dead, not yet cold. Were they two destined to repeat history over and over like this? He sincerely hoped not. He couldn't take any more Dark Lords.

The thing Harry wanted, above all, the thing he'd always wanted more than he wanted anything else, was to do the right thing. Always, it was about whether he was doing the right thing. And this felt like the right thing.

"I know why you did what you did. I know that you blamed me for what happened to your mother. I let everyone think it was revenge agains the Weasleys driving you, when I knew it was revenge against me. I didn't want to put your life in any more danger by revealing to the last Death Eaters what you'd done."

"I realize that. Thank you."

"They're all gone now, though. No one is going to threaten your life again."

Draco frowned. "What are you saying, Harry?"

"Draco. Do you want to stay here?"


	36. Letter 8

Our Savior Sends a Message

Harry Potter Addresses the Wizarding World

Daily Prophet Special Edition

_My dear friends,_

_Thank you for your support and vigilance during the crisis of the last few months. Tyrell proved more difficult to capture than we'd ever anticipated, and the abduction of my son was only a number on a list of atrocious acts. Tyrell's yearning to recreate Voldemort's reign of terror was ugly, and I was proud to see so many great witches and wizards lending their assistance to preventing Tyrell from accomplishing his goal._

_My greatest debt is to a man whose name will surprise you, but I beg you to continue reading. I must thank Draco Malfoy for his heroic efforts to stop Tyrell and restore my son to my wife and I. I know this comes as a great surprise, but bear with me. I have kept a story quiet for seven years, and now it must be told. First, my reasons for holding my silence so long. I knew that Draco Malfoy was not yet willing to ally with me or the Ministry. So long as he was on his own, he was still in danger from the scattered remnants of Voldemort's supporters, who would have taken his life if I had told of his actions. I had no desire to endanger his life, so I kept quiet. Now at last, is the story of how Voldemort fell._

_On the day I discovered Voldemort's hiding place and went there to end our struggle, I had just learned that Hermione Granger was pregnant. In the interest of protecting her and her child, I would not let her come with me, despite her loyalty to me and all her help in the previous years. I went to Voldemort alone. Unfortunately, to defeat Voldemort, I had to kill his snake before I could kill him, and by so doing, I would reveal my presence and likely be killed before I could move against Voldemort himself. I went to him with no assurance that I could succeed. Hermione would be left to finish what I started if I was unable to do so._

_I had thought I was invisible, but Draco Malfoy discovered my presence in Voldemort's hideout. I was surprised that he did not kill me immediately, and I discovered something I had suspected long since. Draco was not a loyal follower of Voldemort. He had only ever done Voldemort's wishes to keep safe his mother, Narcissa Malfoy. He was a virtual prisoner of Voldemort by then, and was fated to die himself, as soon as Voldemort discovered what Draco had done only minutes before my arrival—burned the Dark Mark from his arm. I told Draco of my purpose there. And then we went together to meet his former master. If Draco had not been there, I would not have survived. He killed the snake for me, giving me the time I needed to get close to Voldemort._

_There were two unfortunate things about that moment. The first was that Draco's mother Narcissa was in a private conference with Voldemort when we came to kill him. The second was that Voldemort was quicker than I had anticipated. Upon seeing that Draco had killed the snake, he retaliated by murdering Narcissa Malfoy before her son's eyes. I killed Voldemort then, but it was far too late to save her._

_I believe, and Draco believes, that he was driven mad by his grief over this incident. His actions over the course of the next year were the actions of a young man unhinged by the loss of his family and witnessing his mother's murder. Draco brought this grief to several families during this period, including that of my own adopted son. And his regret over his actions has been enormous and crippling to him. Until very recently, he was hiding from our world by living as a Muggle. Draco has told me that he will be issuing a formal apology to us all very soon, and the __Daily Prophet__ has agreed to print this for him._

_The most surprising part of this very surprising story has been Draco's actions over the past several months. He returned to our world intent on trying to make up for his past. He created a false identity for himself and assumed the role of a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He has maintained an identity that many of you already know—that of Drew Stevens, the Head of Gryffindor, flying coach, and Potions master at the school. His desire to repay us for his poor decisions in the past drove him to become an admirable professor and leader for our children. Many students at the school call him their favorite professor, and Gryffindor has flourished under his leadership. He has consistently performed above the call of his job, and has shown real care and generosity to our students._

_He proved yesterday that his selfnessness is surpassed only by his courage. Yesterday, Draco located and gained entry to Thomas Tyrell's hiding place. He took my son back from his abductors and saved his life. He fought with Tyrell over Matt, and tragically, Tyrell was killed in this struggle. Draco has, for a second time, brought down a dangerous dark wizard in defense of those he cares about. He ensured that my son would come back to me alive and well. I cannot thank Draco enough for his help, and this message to you is my poor attempt to do so._

_In this special issue of the __Daily Prophet__, you will find the written testimony of several students whose lives have been touched by this man—students who received the kind of attention only a truly caring professor would give. Niles Wraven, Paulette Burns, and my own son Matthias Potter wanted to tell all of us of the difference Draco has made at Hogwarts. The school's headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, and several of its professors also stand behind the newest addition to their staff._

_Draco has made a home at Hogwarts, and transformed himself into a true asset to the school. He has a great deal of support there, and he has mine. I beg all of you to forgive Draco and welcome him to Hogwarts under his own name. Let us show that we are the kind of people we have proved ourselves to be over the past seven years, as we have worked so hard to rebuild our world. Let us show that we are capable of forgiveness, so that the whole wizarding world will look to us as an example, will look to Draco as an example, of the transformation that is possible in a world that can rise above the darkness that threatens it. If we can do that, if we can look to the future instead of the past, we will be doing what I have worked for my entire life. We will be looking into a future of hope._

_Thank you for all the support you've shown me over the years. I ask now only that you share that support with a man to whom I owe the lives of my dear friend and her daughter, and my son, and my own._

_With hope,_

_Harry Potter_


	37. Chapter 28: Hopeless

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Hopeless

"Don't talk to me, Harry. Just don't even talk to me."

"Sunshine, please."

"And don't call me that. This is not exactly the time for endearing nicknames, is it?"

Harry was at an utter loss. Of all the opposition he had expected after the decision he'd made, this was not one he'd prepared for.

"Ginny, just talk to me. I don't understand. I need to understand."

"What is there to understand, Harry? He's killed people. Several of them."

"I know that. And he's sorry."

Ginny laughed, a cold and bitter laugh. "I'm sure he is. Let's dig up Thomas Tyrell so he can apologize."

Harry started to feel cold as well. "I, for one, do not regret the death of Thomas Tyrell."

"Right, since you killed Voldemort, it was just Draco's turn, wasn't it? You and Draco, the dynamic duo of Dark Arts defense."

"That's very nice alliteration, Ginny, but the sarcasm's not helping. What's bothering you so much? That Draco helped me?"

"_Yes!_ It's bothering me, okay?!"

"But why?"

"I could have done something, too. You left Hermione because she was pregnant, but you didn't think to take me? You wouldn't bring me along when you went to get Matt from Tyrell last week?" She suddenly started sobbing in helpless frustration. "You either don't trust me or don't think I'm good enough, Harry. You never have. Which is it? Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do." He felt sick as he realized that Ginny had never listened to him, not once, when he told her why he didn't take her with him. Merlin, how hard was it to understand that it would _kill_ him to see her come to harm?

"Then you think I'm weak."

"No, Ginny." He hated the sight of his wife crying. He hated it. "Don't you ever listen?" he exploded. And then he couldn't hold back anymore. "How many times, Ginny, how many sodding times do I have to say this? I _love you_. And I want to keep you _safe_. I couldn't take you the first time, with Ron and Hermione, because I couldn't tell you what we were doing. Okay? That information is _dangerous_, don't you understand that yet? Merlin's hairy balls, Matt almost got _killed_ for that information! And dammit, Ginny, last week I needed to know that Sirius and Charlotte were safe with you. Of course I trust you, I left my children with you when I thought they might be kidnapped by a madman."

"I thought—" she choked on a sob, swallowed, and continued. "I thought you wanted me there in case I had to die to protect them."

"What?"

"Like Lily. Like your mother. I thought . . ."

"_Shit_, Ginny, holy _shit_, you actually thought that? You thought I wanted you to _die_? You're my _wife_, and I _love_ you, and I never, never want anything to happen to you! Please, just listen to what I'm saying! I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy. That's the bottom line."

"But I'm not happy," she wept. "I'm not happy at all."

Harry's anger was still so hot that he barely felt the twist in his gut at those words.

"Harry, I don't want Draco Malfoy to teach Matt. I don't want him at Hogwarts."

"He's already been there for year," Harry said, bewildered. "How is it any different?"

"It might not be to you, but it is to a lot of other people, and that includes me. I don't want that murderer at Matt's school!"

"You can't even give him a chance? You really can't?"

"He killed _Neville_."

"I know that." Harry sat down on the bed like a deflating balloon, folding in on himself and going rather limp. "I've already talked about this so many times, with so many people, including Draco. He had no choice. Neville would have killed him."

"Then he should have died. He knew what he was and he should have let Neville kill him."

"You know, Ginny, in the moment you're being savagely beaten with a pipe, it becomes a little tough to make serious and difficult moral decisions. I don't blame him for that."

"He killed Matt's parents. And now Matt's forgiven him, just because he worships the ground you walk on, like the rest of the country. Matt would do anything you say, and you've got him forgiving murder, when he's still too young to even grasp how much he's got to forgive."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "You're one to talk about 'too young' to me. We were both battling Death Eaters before we could Apparate."

She huffed. "Fine. You know what? Forget it. Your mind's already made up, and there is absolutely no reason to talk to you about how I feel about it. Nothing I say is going to make a difference, is it?"

"Ginny, I value your opinion on everything that concerns our kids. And I understand your position. But did you really think, after that letter I wrote, and that apology that Draco wrote, that I'd change my mind about this?"

Ginny crossed her arms and glared at him. "It would have been nice to have a chance to talk to you before you put that out, actually."

He sighed. "You know what? I'm sorry I didn't consult with you on the way I felt about it."

"That's your problem, you_ bastard_," Ginny snarled. "You never 'consult' with me on the way you're feeling. You don't share with me, Harry. You're completely self-contained, and I'm just here to watch the kids."

"You're here because we love each other," Harry said, feeling panicky. He hadn't been particularly fond of any part of this conversation, but this bit worried him. He didn't like where this was headed. "You're beautiful, and smart, and talented, and you can deal with all my depressing moods, and you're just brave and good, Ginny. We love each other."

Ginny had stopped crying, stopped being angry, stopped showing any emotion. Her face was as barren as the sheer face of a mountain, and as forebidding. "Do we?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure we didn't play at being in love because we were kids, and grow out of it?"

Harry tried to answer, but his jaw was on the floor. "Ginny . . ."

"I'm not in love with you, Harry. This thing with Malfoy is just the latest in a whole series of things you refuse to share with me. I can't be in love with you, because I hardly know you. Apparently Malfoy knows you better than I do. Apparently I'm the third wheel, getting in the way here."

"No, Ginny." His mouth was dry, and his head spun sickeningly. "No, please don't say what I think you're about to say."

"I want a divorce, Harry."

He hunched over like she'd struck him a physical blow. He'd never thought to hear that directed at him, not ever, and it hurt just like being punched in the stomach. No, this had to be a dream, no, _wake up, Harry, wake up now, it's just a dream, she didn't say that_, she couldn't have said that.

"Did you hear me?"

"Why?" he managed to gasp.

"Because we've been trying to do better, and we're not doing it. It's not getting better. I'm miserable, Harry. I don't know you. I need . . . I need someone who's not just listening, I need someone who's talking. I need someone else."

"Please. Please don't do this. Think about the kids, please."

"I'll make sure you have partial custody."

And that felt like being _kicked_ in the stomach. _Hard_.

"Oh, hell no," he heard himself say as he tried to recover from the blow. "There is absolutely no way, none at all, that you will take my kids away from me."

"Those are my kids, too, Harry."

"Ginny, those kids are everything to me. You know that. No. I'm telling you no. I will lock you up in the attic and never let you out before I'll let you take away my kids. If you're leaving, fine," he said on a sob, "but don't you dare take the kids."

She was shaking from head to toe. Her face was bloodless. "I am leaving. With or without my children."

She stalked out of the room and Harry lay down on the bed and wept. His wife was leaving him. Ginny, his Sunshine, was leaving him just because he wanted to keep her safe. Just because he wanted to give Draco another chance. It made no sense, none at all, and he kept telling himself he'd wake up from this nightmare any minute. Then he ran into the next room and watched Charlotte sleep. His baby girl. He would not lose his baby girl, not ever.

"Aw, Ginny," he moaned, and fell to his knees on the floor of Charlotte's room. "Don't. Don't leave me."

He pleaded with her. He shouted at her. He cried on her. He did everything he could think of. But every time, her response was the same.

"Do you still want Malfoy at Hogwarts?"

And he still did. He could have lied, but to think that it would save his marriage would be foolish. And he wasn't much of a liar, in any case. It was the right thing. The Right Thing.

"Oh, Ginny," he whispered as he watched Sirius sob himself to sleep the night she moved back into the Burrow with her parents. "How did this happen?"


	38. Chapter 29: Choosing Sides

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Choosing Sides

Harry was sitting in melancholy silence in the drawing room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius was in bed, but he still held Charlotte, asleep in his lap, as he'd been holding her for over an hour after she'd been soothed into dreams by Harry's murmured comfort. Two years old and a daddy's girl in every way, not to mention the spitting image of her mother at that age, she was the only good thing in his life at this particular moment. Matt and Sirius were both angry with Ginny for leaving and angry with him for not bringing her back. Matt had only taken a few days to recuperate from his ordeal before going back to school to finish out the year. He suspected Matt had just wanted to get out of the depressing house and away from the fighting. The house was much too quiet with only Harry and the two young children in it.

He'd given up after Matt had gone back to school, and the storm of emotions was quiet. He was just restless, unsleeping and unable to eat. It had been only a few weeks, but Harry was already going crazy, or slipping into some kind of depression. He knew he had to pull himself up out of it, for Crash and Charley's sake if nothing else, but he hadn't been able to yet. He'd apologized and apologized to Ginny, and promised to try harder, to open himself up more to her. He'd even said he would try marriage counseling. But she was finished with him, it seemed. She'd called their marriage a youthful mistake, something they'd done too early, before they were ready. Harry had bitterly said that sometimes you had to soldier on with your mistakes, especially when there were kids involved, and she hadn't liked that at all. She'd said there wasn't supposed to be kids yet. When they'd talked about marriage before, as teenagers, they'd planned on maybe starting their family at this time. When she'd been forced to adopt Matt—_forced_—she'd given up on that plan and decided Harry must just want kids now and what she wanted didn't mean anything to him.

"_Why'd you marry me, then, if you thought I didn't care about you?"_

_Ginny's liquid brown eyes were lost and sad. "You were a hero. And a good man. You loved me and wanted me. I was in love with you. A girl could do worse."_

"_And now?"_

"_And now all that high-spirited love is gone, and I just see how incompatible we really are. I can't do this anymore."_

"_How long have you felt this way?"_

"_Since I was pregnant with Charlotte."_

"_But it took Draco turning out to be a good person to set it off?"_

_She flinched like he'd struck her. "Are you trying to pick a fight? You know I think he's not a good person. You know I think he'll turn around and sell us all for his own gain someday. And a lot of other people seem to feel the same way, given how many are pulling their kids out of school at the end of the year."_

"_At least they're waiting that long," he said bitterly. "Two families took their kids out already. I think people will calm down, though. There's still two months of school left, and Draco will prove during those two months that he's not a danger to anybody, that's he's good at his job."_

"_They all trust you so completely. It's incredible the way so many will just take you at your word."_

"_It's frightening, Ginny. It scares me, how much responsibility I have just because of . . . Ginny, please, I need you back. I don't have what it takes, not on my own. I need you."_

_She just shook her head. "No, you don't. You just need somebody. Women will line up for that, you know. You're an attractive man, in many ways."_

"_None of them are my children's mother. None of them are you."_

"_Give it a little time, and that won't matter much."_

She'd ended the conversation there. Nothing Harry said was making a dent in her resolve, though he continued to send messages nearly every day. And he'd just been moping, for weeks now. He hadn't been to work, he'd been staying home to take care of Sirius and Charley. He had to go back to work, he knew, though he didn't know what he'd do with himself now that he had no real threats to stop. And he didn't know what to do with Crash and Charley. Their grandmother would take care of them if he asked her to, but then he'd have to deal with her alternating between pleas for him to fix whatever he'd done and relations of arguments with Ginny on the same topic. Molly was a wreck, and it showed in her inability to shut up. Arthur was just quiet, and that was somehow worse. Harry had never felt unwelcome in the Burrow before, but until he and Ginny got back together, his parents-in-law were acting stiff and distant. Ginny had already taken a small flat somewhere here in London and gone to work full-time. She obviously wasn't moping.

He sighed as he watched Charley sleep, and he knew he didn't have much choice, at least until Sirius started primary school in the fall. It would be their grandmother or a professional caretaker, and he didn't want to add to the trauma by introducing a stranger into their lives to take their mother's place at the moment. He just dreaded the moment when Ginny found out that it wasn't him taking care of them, after the fuss he'd raised about keeping them with him. Everything about Ginny was painful right now. Thinking about her was like pressing on a bruise, every touch was sharp and lasting. Better not to think of her, but that was impossible. She'd been his wife for six years, and he loved her, no matter what she thought.

The embers in his fireplace stirred, and he came to attention, sitting up carefully so he didn't wake Charley.

"Who is it?"

Could it be Ginny? Did she want to talk?

The face flickered into being. "Harry?"

His hope fell flat. "Zacharias."

"I hope I'm not calling too late."

"Not at all."

"I've just got a great deal on my mind, and I needed to talk to you about a few things."

"Just to save time, I'll assume that 'a few things' means 'Draco Malfoy,' shall I?" Harry said dryly. "Fine, but keep your voice down. My daughter's asleep."

"Yes, I see that. Very well. I'm uneasy, Harry."

"That Draco won't perform his job as adequately as he's done since the year started?"

"Please, Harry, don't be flippant. I'm serious."

"So am I. I'm tired of people reacting as though he hasn't already been teaching there for months."

"I'm not reacting that way. If you'll recall, I've been uneasy about him all along. And I don't like the way you've got the Ministry wrapped around your little finger, either, providing support like this."

"Scrimgeour made his decision on his own. You know as well as I do that he doesn't care for me much. He honestly believes that pardoning Draco in recognition of his services is the right move for the Ministry to make."

"And giving him the manor back, Harry? Was that the Minister's idea?"

"He might have listened to a suggestion on that one," Harry admitted. A suggestion filtered through someone else, of course. Scrimgeour didn't need to know it had originated with Harry. At least Draco had Malfoy Manor back now, however it was done.

"I don't like the idea it sends out, that's all. Risk your life doing something foolish, and all is forgiven."

"I'm sure you don't mean to imply that it was foolish to rescue my son from the hands of a violent criminal."

"I was talking about his vigilantism and taking Tyrell's life into his own hands."

"He didn't mean to kill him, only to incapacitate him. You saw the report from St. Mungo's. They looked at the Pensieve memory, and their official opinion is that Tyrell would have survived if he hadn't panicked."

"Look, Harry," Zacharias said in a short, annoyed tone. "I understand, all right? He made all the right moves to dig himself out of a very big hole, and he's got you convinced that he's harmless. However, given your fame, everyone knows I'm not the only one harbouring doubts about that."

"Don't you dare, Zacharias," Harry said furiously. "Don't even presume to think you can speak to me about my wife."

"Fine, Harry, I apologize. All I mean is, people are upset. They're very upset. A great number of them listen to you, and many of them were moved by the extra editions the _Prophet_ put out. That's why Malfoy is getting his test run, through the end of the term. But I don't think I need to tell you that there are a number of parents sending their children abroad for schooling next year."

"I'm going to get as many of them back as I can," Harry said firmly. "And I don't think I need to tell you, Zacharias, how many children are ready to fight their parents to stay. Based on Matt's acceptance of him, there are a lot of kids who are on his side. You're there at the school, you know that."

"I do," Zacharias said grudgingly. "Never mind, Harry. I can see that there's no talking to you about this. You're not willing to discuss it logically."

"Logically? I've given some very logical reasons to keep Draco at Hogwarts, most of them having to do with his aptitude for the position. That's perfectly logical."

"No, Harry, you're so caught up in defining the moral high ground that you're not facing facts. The facts are that murderers have blood on their hands, whether they're sorry about it or not. It doesn't wash off, and it amazes me that you can talk people into allowing someone like that to teach their children."

Harry was distracted for a moment in stroking Charley's hair and keeping her under, as she stirred a bit and smacked her lips in her sleep. He looked up at Zacharias' head haloed in fire and wished he could punch him without the entire wizarding world finding out about it.

"Does McGonagall share your opinion, Zacharias?"

"You are well aware that she doesn't."

"And she is still the headmistress of the school?"

"She is. But she's old and getting absentminded. She offers very little reason for her decision."

"Well, we'll worry about her getting senile when she starts inspecting the castle barefoot or something, all right? Until then, it's her call."

"And it's something I simply cannot support."

"Well, Zacharias, what are you going to do, then? Picket outside her office?"

"I'm going to leave, Harry."

Harry nearly dropped his daughter. "You're what?"

"I'm resigning. I've already told Professor McGonagall. I won't be coming back next year. I'm taking a position at the Ministry. There are people in the Ministry who share my views and want to give me the opportunity to express them."

"Brilliant, Zacharias. You'll leave McGonagall short-handed again just because of your personal dislike for someone, just at a time when she's desperately going to need support to maintain a strong front against opposition."

"I guess I can't expect you to understand. Let's just forget this entire conversation, then. Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Zacharias."

He turned to the portrait on the wall. "Phineus!"

The wizard marched into his portrait, muttering to himself under his breath about the hour. "Yes?"

"Is McGonagall in the office?"

"She is."

"Would you tell her that I will be contacting her in five minutes or so?"

"If I have to," he sighed, and marched away again.

Harry went and laid Charley in bed, and checked on Sirius, who was asleep with a deep frown on his face that made Harry's heart ache. He returned to the drawing room to firecall the headmistress.

"Hello, Headmistress."

"Good evening, Mr. Potter."

"I just spoke to Zacharias and got the news. I'm sorry to hear it."

"He's done so much good for the school," McGonagall said in a bitter voice. "I hate to lose him now, but I will not back down on this issue."

"What did Dumbledore say?"

"Albus is being clever again. He's known Mr. Malfoy's identity since the moment the boy set foot in the office last year, and says the boy has had his full support and understanding since he was sixteen years old. I'm afraid you're the only one who is probably aware of his full meaning, but of course I know now why he's been so adamant about liking him all along."

Harry smiled. He did indeed know Dumbledore's full meaning. He'd been prepared to give Draco this second chance at the very end of his life. Harry had never fully disclosed the events up there on the tower. Many people weren't even aware that he had been present—he hadn't wanted to field the painful questions about why he hadn't stopped Snape killing the great wizard.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're holding firm. We'll ride out the next two months and see what things look like from there."

"We will indeed. Did you need anything else, Harry?"

"No, sorry for disturbing you."

"Anytime, you know that. Goodnight."

"Good luck, Headmistress."

Harry felt somehow comforted by the conversation with McGonagall, and the relaxation it brought on made him realize how weary he was. He barely managed to crawl into bed before his eyes slid shut and he drifted off into sleep.


	39. Chapter 30: Giving In

Chapter Thirty

Giving In

Ginny still wouldn't come home.

Harry still felt his stomach turn over every time he thought that. Now, as he went to the Burrow to pick up the kids after they'd spent the day with their mother, his stomach was doing flips. Because he caught sight of thick, lush, red hair through the window. Ginny was still there. He didn't know what to say to her anymore. They'd been separated for two months, and she'd never contacted once. She had her mother speak to him when they arranged for her to spend time with the kids. Maybe she'd just been busy. She'd taken a fairly high profile case about Animagus registration and she probably didn't have time to have drawn-out conversations with Harry about their marriage.

Still, it was a good sign that she hadn't filed for divorce yet. He was clinging to that, and it calmed his stomach somewhat as he went into the house.

"Hey, guys!" he called.

Sirius raced into the room, Charley following as best she could, while Matt followed more sedately. And then Ginny, who walked in only reluctantly.

"Hi, Ginny."

"Harry."

That seemed to be the entirety of things she could say. He had to struggle for something to say, himself.

"I've been reading about your Animagus case in the _Prophet_," he offered. That seemed neutral.

She nodded. "It's been touchy."

"Are you doing okay? You look tired. Are you sleep—"

"Harry, please. I'm fine. You don't look so great yourself."

He just stared at her. "How well do you expect me to be?" Then he saw all three kids looking up at them with interest, and controlled himself. This was not the place for this discussion. "Ginny, I . . . I miss you."

She bit her lip. "You'll survive. You've got the kids to look after, and work to keep you busy. Just find something other than me to occupy your time. It's easy enough."

She'd know, wouldn't she? But Harry had sat in his office doing next to nothing for the last month. There were things he could be doing, but he wasn't getting them done. And the kids weren't any happier than he was. Didn't she notice how much they brooded and how quiet they had been? He knew she had, but she wouldn't mention it.

"You'll forget about me soon enough," she said in a voice barely more than a whisper, then turned and left.

"I wouldn't count on it," Harry replied to the empty space before him, then guided the children to the fireplace to Floo home.

---Break---

Harry walked up to the school, his response to the letter McGonagall sent him all planned out in his head. She deserved to hear it in person, this time. She never gave up, for some reason, but this time he had yet another very compelling reason not to do it.

He escorted himself to her office and let himself in with the password she'd given to him in the letter. He rapped on the door. "Professor McGonagall? It's Harry."

"Harry, come in," her strict voice greeted him with a measure of warmth it rarely held. "I'm glad you came."

"Professor, I don't know why you've asked me again. You know I can't do it."

"We've been through this, Harry. There's no reason not to, now that we know where Malfoy is."

They both had to smile at that, but Harry's mind was made up. "I couldn't leave the kids alone so often, Professor. I hate the idea of hiring a babysitter for Charlotte, and the school would take up so much of my attention, I wouldn't be able to be home when they need me."

McGonagall smiled. "Why don't you come live here? You and the children?"

Harry took a moment to blink his eyes carefully. He opened them and the office was still there, with McGonagall's question in the air.

"Bring the children here?" he repeated.

"Yes, Harry. They would live here with you. That way, you're not traveling every day, and you'll be able to keep a closer eye on the students as well as your own children."

Harry opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Finally, he managed something. "Huh."

"Would that be an acceptable solution?"

"Well, I . . ."

"Mr. Potter, Zacharias is packing his bags as we speak. The year is over. We've known the position will be available for two months, and I've had no applicants. Nobody wants to work with Mr. Malfoy, despite the fact that he's been performing up to his usual standard with the children. At least they seem inclined to trust him."

"You're holding your position admirably well, Headmistress."

"He's doing a good job. So could you be."

Harry shrugged. "Honestly, I don't have anything better to do. I give up. Fine. Just so long as the kids are with me. I can't believe you'd change things so much for me."

McGonagall smiled. "You might as well play that 'Savior' card as long as you can, don't you think?"

Harry laughed, but his response was serious enough. "I've never played it any more than I had to."

"I know," she assured him gently. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Harry."

The more he thought about it, the more his smile spread. "Thank you, Headmistress."

He marched down the stairs, and walked automatically to the Potions room he remembered so well. Draco was sitting at his desk grading final essays, looking extremely entertained by something he was reading.

"No, that does _not _cause you to get pimples on your arse," he chuckled, and made a mark. "Nice try, though."

"I'd heard only crazy people talk to themselves," Harry remarked. He hadn't seen Draco since they'd rescued Matt, and he was unsure how to go about this.

Draco looked up, then frowned. "Greg, don't be such a . . . Potter?"

He nodded in greeting. "Looks like you've figured out this teaching thing pretty well, Malfoy."

Draco looked over the essays spread over his desk. "Yes. Well."

"How do you think I'll do at it?"

Draco looked back at him in surprise. "You don't mean . . . you're replacing Zacharias, aren't you?"

"McGonagall's desperate again. I'm taking the job this time."

Draco frowned, obviously thinking about something, then he laughed. "So you're the other candidate she mentioned when she hired me!"

He shrugged. "Probably." He schooled his face into seriousness, and took the plunge. "Are we going to have a problem teaching together?"

"Oh. Um. I don't think so. I mean, we managed to save your son without killing each other, didn't we?"

"I'll be living here, with my children."

"You mean the younger ones?"

"Yes. I told McGonagall I wouldn't take the job unless I could keep them with me."

Draco shrugged. "That doesn't actually surprise me. No, Potter, I have no problem with that. At least, not any more problem with it than I have with the sudden change in attitude toward me. But I knew what I was getting myself into when I allowed you to publish that letter."

"You've actually got quite a few people on your side. The students still seem happy with you."

His face brightened a bit. "Most of them." Then his face nearly crumpled. He managed to regain control very quickly, but Harry could swear he'd almost burst into tears right then. "The ones that aren't will come around. Eventually."

Hagrid had already told Harry that he'd been sitting with Ran during the full moon. Ran didn't want to be around Draco anymore. Harry hadn't really known they were that close, but he'd somehow managed to develop some tact in the last few years and left the subject well alone.

"I also thought you'd want to know about my cousin."

"Ah, yes. Any news on my despicable half-brother?"

"Dudley says Cross is staying out of sight, of the police anyway. But he knows to contact me immediately if he sees or hears anything about him. Cross will be more effectively handled by the magical community."

Draco nodded. "Good. I don't want him to have a moment of opportunity to cause damage."

"He seems like a small-time criminal, in general. Maybe he'll leave everyone alone."

"Most likely. But I've reinstated the wards on the manor, just in case."

"Are you going back there for the summer?"

"I am. It will be strange, to be there alone. I think I'll redecorate. I may even replace the Dark Mark-patterned carpet."

Harry laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy. I know even your family wouldn't stoop so low as to have commercial carpeting."

Draco had to laugh, too. And didn't this feel just spectacularly weird, joking around with Malfoy. It really sunk in then that they would be working together in a few months' time. He might as well get used to this sort of thing now, unless he wanted to spend the entire term on edge and avoiding the man.

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"It was you who got my house back, wasn't it?"

To lie, or tell the truth? It was really no question to Harry. After all, the right thing was the right thing. "Yes, it was."

Draco struggled to speak. It took a moment. Harry didn't grudge him the moment. He had to get used to this, too.

"Thank you."


	40. Chapter 31: Doubts and Dreams

Chapter Thirty-One

Doubts and Dreams

Ran tried to shut the lid on his trunk, but it wouldn't latch. He sighed in frustration. He was positive that everything had fit in here at the beginning of the school year. How was it that it didn't anymore? It might have something to do with his mother's help while packing the first time.

He opened the lid and peered inside. Perhaps he should have folded the clothes. He wasn't about to pull them all back out and start over, though. The train was leaving in just a few hours, and he didn't even think he'd have the time, much less the inclination, to do it all again.

He saw movement and found his classmate Quinn coming in for his own things.

"Quinn, come here, will you?"

Quinn was cautious around him, as always. Ever since someone had started a rumour first year that werewolves weren't restricted to the full moon . . . School hadn't been the delightful, friendly place so many others found it to be, not for him. The only ones here who'd ever really seemed comfortable around him were Matt, and by extension Bear. And— no, he wouldn't think of _him_. He'd tried to avoid thinking about him anytime he wasn't in the classroom, and as rarely as possible then.

Ran had spent the last two months wondering whether there was something wrong with him. Maybe he was ill. Because even when he didn't think about his Potions professor, even when he deliberately pushed the thoughts away, all his insides still felt like they'd been shredded up. Every movement hurt. He'd lost weight, couldn't sleep. Maybe that was his trouble getting his trunk closed, maybe he'd just lost some of his strength.

"Just sit on this for a few seconds," Ran said, pointing to his trunk. Quinn was understanding of that, at least, and sat down on the top. He bounced up and down a few times to be sure it was squished shut as well as it could be, then Ran snapped the catch. "Excellent."

"Got it?"

"Yeah, thanks Quinn."

Quinn got up to gather up his trunk and his pet rat, but then waited for Ran and descended the stairs with him. The common room was rapidly emptying out, just a few students dashing about and looking for lost items. They passed through it silently, and Ran felt almost like a ghost. The Quidditch team always spoke to him, but none of them were in here. Nobody else really bothered to take notice of him, unless he made them. He didn't consider it worth the effort, most days. Quinn's behavior, walking with him, helping him, was a little strange, come to think of it.

"Hey, Ran," Quinn said quietly, getting his attention.

"Er, yeah?"

"Me and the other guys have been noticing . . . you seem sort of upset lately."

"Do I?" Ran muttered dully. "I didn't know you were paying that much attention."

Quinn winced. "I know we haven't been fair to you, all right? Look, you don't really make it any easier on yourself. All I mean is, I wanted to ask you if you were all right."

"I'm brilliant," Ran said. "Why?"

Quinn glared at him. "Why do you always have to be so touchy with us?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's just that you told the whole school I might rip out their throats at any time."

Quinn looked away, embarrassed. "That was supposed to be a joke. Besides, I didn't even do it. It was—"

"Look, it doesn't matter, okay?"

"If you say so. Look, Ran, I'm sorry about all that. We'll try to make it up to you next year."

Ran sighed. "I don't know that I'm coming back next year."

Quinn looked shocked. "What?"  
"I've talked to my mum about it. She reckons I might go to a Muggle school and have private magical lessons."

"Oh. It's about Professor Malfoy, then? Your mum's one of them that thinks he'll kill us all, now we know who he is?"

"No," Ran growled. "I just don't want to be here anymore."

"He used to be your favorite teacher, though," Quinn argued. "You can't tell me he was faking it when he would go sit up all night with you when you . . . when you're a werewolf."

Ran shrugged his shoulders like he was ridding himself of an annoying pest that landed there. "It doesn't matter. Look, I've got to go. I see Simon waiting for me. Have a good summer, Quinn. Thanks for helping me with my trunk."

"Hey, wait—"

Ran hurried away from him. Not to Simon, just away. Quinn didn't get it. No one understood it. If he was the professor's favorite, if the professor had really liked his mother so much . . . how could he have lied to them for so long? He was a killer, that was one thing, but what really made Ran angry is that all the trust he'd thought was between them didn't really exist. And if he could lie so well, he could lie to Mum. He could hurt her. Just like Ran's father did, he could lie to her and leave her. Ran would never, never allow that to happen. Mum needed his protection now, and he wouldn't let any stupid feelings he might have get in the way of that.

* * *

Charity Pritchard sat down on Justine's bed and sighed. "Father's being dumb again," she said.

"What do you mean?" Justine asked.

"He's threatening to send us all to Beauxbatons next year. Mother keeps egging him on, too."

Justine shrugged. "I wouldn't mind. I've heard that at Beauxbatons, they don't allow people to behave so coarsely as they do at Hogwarts."

"I _like_ Hogwarts," Charity said plaintively. "I like being in Hufflepuff."

"As well you should. Hufflepuff is a noble house with a long history of good wizards."

"It sounds like you got that straight from Professor Smith," Charity remarked. "Anyway, I've had fun with all the people in my year. Well, except for Alistair, he's always a bit annoying. But I like Robin, and Jennifer, and Hector. And Marcus, I suppose."

"And that's why Beauxbatons would be good for you," Justine sniffed. "Your little classmate is a very good addition to Hufflepuff, and it's only spending so much time with rough company that makes you think otherwise. He's very intelligent, you know."

"And silly," Charity said. "The other boys only spend time with him because they have to."

"That's all the reason I spend time with Hestia Waverly," Justine answered. "She's always practicing Quidditch and coming back to our room all dirty and . . . yeuck. But you must have manners."

"I _have_ got manners," Charity insisted. "I don't want to go all the way to France, I want to stay here. I don't see why we can't go back to Hogwarts next year."

"Well, we might, Father and Mother haven't made up their minds yet. It's all to do with that Professor Malfoy."

"You act like you don't even know him. You've been taking classes from him for a year."

There was a knock on the door, and their sister Megan, the prefect, slipped inside. "Hi."

"Hi," Charity answered.

"What?" Justine answered.

"I've talked to Father. He's agreed to let us go back to Hogwarts in the fall."

"What does Mother say?" Justine asked.

"That it's up to Father to make the final decision. She's not happy, but too bad. We're going back."

Charity jumped up and ran to throw her arms around Megan. "Oh, goody!" she cried. "I'm so glad!"

Megan smiled and smoothed Charity's hair. "I'll be in my sixth year, I wasn't about to switch schools at such an important time. Beauxbatons does their testing under an entirely different format; I'd lose all my OWLs. I just had to tell Father to be reasonable. And I told him that his favorite daughter would be heartbroken, of course," she added, giving Charity one last squeeze of affection. "I was glad to see you doing so well at school, you know. I'm very proud of you, and so is Father."

Justine made a snorting noise and flicked over a new page of _Witch Weekly_. Megan frowned at her.

"Look, Justine, you might be wanting to join in decrying Professor Malfoy to fit in, but I'd rather do the right thing. He's a good teacher, and he's done well by all four houses. Father's an important wizard, and people will be watching our family. We will do everything we can to ensure that they see only excellence from the Pritchard girls. We have a duty to our family and to Hufflepuff."

Justine sighed. "I suppose we do. Fine, then, I promise not to say anything inappropriate. We have an image to uphold. Now will you two leave me alone so I can read my magazine?"

Megan rolled her eyes jokingly as she guided Charity out of Justine's room. "Aren't you excited to have Harry Potter next year?" she asked, her eyes glowing. "We'll learn loads of things from him, I'm sure."

Charity nodded and giggled. "It will be great next year."

* * *

Apollo mumbled incoherently to Nibs with his mouth already full of his sandwich. Lysander scowled at him. Apollo saw him and rolled his eyes, then swallowed deliberately. "Thank you, Nibs!" he called at the house elf's retreating back. Nibs turned back to squeak out some self-deprecating nonsense and disappeared to do whatever he did when he wasn't serving lunch to spoiled brats.

Lysander knew it was really his own fault that Apollo was so spoiled. Their parents were not very affectionate people, and Lysander had always wanted to fill that role for his brother. Sometimes he might have carried it a bit overboard. Well, the damage was done, and besides, Apollo had turned out decently well. Both of them were pretty well liked at school.

"Did you hear what Mum said at breakfast this morning?" Apollo asked.

"No, what?" Lysander asked, barely listening, as he picked up his own sandwich and started reading the letter Lark had sent him.

"She said having Professor Malfoy out in the open will ruin all the work we've done to make Slytherin acceptable again."

Lysander looked up from the letter with an offended frown. "That's ridiculous."

He and Apollo had had the charge laid on them before they ever went to school: reclaim Slytherin in the name of decency. Sure, Slytherin students had a tendency to be crafty and devious, but that didn't have to be a bad thing. Lysander and Apollo should do their utmost to be upstanding students and strong influences on their classmates. They could restore the house to its former glory, and the Sorenson family would be well remembered for what they'd done. All in all, it hadn't been so hard. The two boys had been gifted with good looks, charm, and athletic talent. The Sorensons had been friends with the Kilburne family for a long time, and Greg and Jack had already paved the way for Lysander and Apollo to do as they'd been instructed. They made the effort to form friendships outside of their house and get along with their professors. And now, this.

"Well, she has a point," Apollo said in his most logical tone. "She and Dad have always avoided associating with pardoned Death Eaters. Now there's one teaching at the school."

"Yeah, but look what he's done," Lysander argued. "He's raised the standard, and he's gone on to become Head of Gryffindor, not Slytherin. The Sorting Hat told us all in the song at the beginning of the year that our houses can't tell us who we're meant to be, don't you remember? They just provide a place for us to be among like-minded people and develop the skills we already display."

Apollo shrugged. "I'm just telling you what Mum said."

"Well, what do you think?"

Most thirteen-year-olds would shrug off that kind of question, Lysander thought. But this one had been raised in an environment that told him his thoughts and opinions were just as valuable as anyone else's, just as Lysander had.

"I think next year will be really interesting," Apollo answered. "Harry Potter becoming a professor ought to attract some new students, even if Draco Malfoy drives a few away. I guess we'll know for sure when we see whether or not they can work together."

Lysander nodded. "That's what I was saying to Lark the other day. I mean, she and I can get along, but then, it's a bit easier for us. I didn't devote myself to a murderer who was trying to kill everyone she loves."

Apollo picked up his sandwich again. "It doesn't really matter to me. I'm just going to keep doing what I was doing."

"What's that?"

"Learning how to be a great wizard, and changing Slytherin's reputation."

"It's been hard work, so far, and this might make things even harder."

"I know. So what? Like you're not used to hard work, Lysander."

Lysander grinned. "Well, when you put it that way."

* * *

Aiken Ackerley knew people made fun of him for reading Muggle books, but he didn't care. They made fun of him anyway, so he might as well enjoy his graphic novels. Today, though, he was just lying on his bed, his book open on his chest, and thinking. It was hard for him to order his thoughts. He didn't think that was normal, for it to be so hard to think straight, but it had always been that way for him.

If he'd read a few more Muggle publications, he might have heard of attention deficit disorder, but all he knew was that he was different from most of his classmates. He tried to stay focused, he really did, but there was so much else to do, so much else to think about, all the time. As he lay there, he was tapping his fingers in a frenetic drumbeat on the bedclothes. A million practical jokes he wanted to play when the fall term came around kept trying to crowd out his thoughts, but he wasn't letting them. He was thinking about Professor Stevens.

He knew the man's name was actually Draco Malfoy, but he'd told them his name was Drew Stevens, and Aiken couldn't get himself to make the switch. Whenever he saw the professor, the only name he could think of was Stevens. He liked Stevens. Stevens was patient with him, and laughed at his jokes sometimes. Most people didn't laugh at his jokes. For some reason, they'd decided that his jokes weren't funny just because he liked to tell them to the ghosts, too. At least the ghosts laughed.

Aiken jumped off his bed, forgetting about the book and trying to catch it before it thumped onto the floor. He grabbed it by a corner and tossed it onto the bed. He wanted to go flying, but he knew he wouldn't be allowed. They lived too close to the Muggles. He hated it, wished he lived in a town like Ottery St. Catchpole. Charlie Weasley had told him about that, about flying in the summer with all his brothers. Aiken wished he had brothers. He'd sometimes wished Charlie were his brother. Charlie was another who'd always been patient with him. Charlie used to help him study so he could stay caught up in his classes. He missed Charlie. He hadn't liked Professor Stevens at first, for taking Charlie's place. He supposed he didn't mind anymore. Still, he wished Charlie would write to him. He wanted to hear about dragons.

* * *

"Hey, Niles."

Niles looked up from his experiment only briefly. "Gil."

Gilbert sighed, knowing he'd never get his brother's concentration away from whatever he was brewing. "I just wanted to ask you something. I'll come back later."

"No, I've got to let this stew for ten minutes," Niles said. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to ask you, if you meant what you said in the _Daily Prophet_. That Professor Malfoy was so great."

"I don't write anything I don't mean."

"I didn't know you were taking extra lessons from him."

"Well, I did."

"How come?"

"Because I wanted to, why do you think?" Niles snapped.

"I just wondered why you didn't take extra lessons in anything else."

Niles glared at him. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? To see me get mocked even more because I need extra lessons."

"I didn't say that."

"Well, that's what you meant. Look, I know I'm not a good student. I don't like any of my classes. I just like Potions."

Gilbert shrugged. "Fine. I just wondered." He frowned. "If you were nicer to people, they wouldn't make fun of you so much. It doesn't help that you hex anyone who looks at you cross-eyed."

"I'm a _Slytherin_, you idiot. Slytherin aren't supposed to be _nice_."

"Oh, so what am I, then?"

"I don't know," Niles smirked. "Didn't you want to be in Ravenclaw?"

Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest. "Shut up about that. I'm in Slytherin, so obviously that's where I should be. I'm just saying, not all Slytherins act so spiteful."

"Oh, you're talking about the Sorensons, are you? I'm surprised they're not in Gryffindor."

"What's so bad about Gryffindor? Professor Malfoy is _Head_ of Gryffindor now."

"Yeah? Harry Potter's from Gryffindor, and look what a self-important little bugger he is. You think Professor Malfoy will keep that position now that Potter is coming to teach here?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"First of all, because Potter will just take it from him. He expects the whole world to give him favors. And secondly, no self-respecting Slytherin ought to be working so closely with him."

"I thought you liked Malfoy."

"I do. I just think he'll resign his Headship."

Gilbert shook his head. "That's not the way things are supposed to be anymore."

"I know. Sometimes, things are the way they are, whether they're supposed to be or not."

* * *

Matt sat on Charley's floor, playing with building blocks with her, while Dad fixed a cut on Crash's cheek. She tipped over the tower they'd made and laughed infectiously, making Matt laugh with her. He loved his baby sister, and he didn't mind playing with her sometimes. But the idea that she would be following him to Hogwarts in the fall made him a little bit uneasy, a little bit resentful. It wasn't that he was angry about having his family around him there. Merlin knew he'd missed them last year. It was just . . . not the whole family. Mum wouldn't be there. And if Mum were there, the family wouldn't have any reason to be at Hogwarts to begin with. Dad was only bringing Crash and Charley so that the three of them wouldn't be living in their big old house all alone.

Charley seemed happy enough now, Matt thought, but it wouldn't last. She cried for Mum almost every night. Crash didn't cry anymore, he just had nightmares sometimes now. Matt understood how it felt, and he'd taken to leaving his door open so he could hear if Sirius yelled out in his sleep. They only saw Mum about once a week, right now. It wasn't fair. Not to any of them. Not even to Mum. Because Matt had seen what Dad was too angry to see and what Crash and Charley were too young to see. Mum missed them. She was always so sad when they went back home to Dad.

He'd asked her why she didn't come home. She said Dad didn't need her there. Matt contradicted her, telling her that Dad missed her terribly. And then Mum said something strange. She'd said Dad would do better without her. Matt didn't get it. How could she think that? She'd seen Dad, he knew she had. Dad had gotten very thin, and there were awful circles under his eyes, and he didn't laugh as much as he used to. Why would she think Dad was better without her? None of them were better without her!

Soon, they'd all go to Hogwarts, Matt consoled himself. They'd all be busy, and there'd be lots of people around. They wouldn't have time to feel so sad. Matt was determined that when he got back to school, he'd make everyone like Professor Malfoy again. Matt had never had any qualms about it, not since he'd accepted the man's apology while staring at his dying kidnapper. Professor Malfoy was different, now. Matt knew it better than most. He was determined most of all to make sure that Dad got along with him. Everybody was always watching Dad. Basil said that so long as Dad kept showing support, people would listen.

Maybe then, Mum would listen.


	41. Chapter 32: Save Me

Chapter Thirty-Two

Save Me

Harry and Matt worked together to levitate their luggage off the carriage and through the front doors of Hogwarts castle. Matt's control wasn't fantastic yet, and he banged a few items into the doorframe, but nothing breakable, thank Merlin. Generally speaking, Harry didn't own anything breakable. He had an accident-prone five-year-old wizard, and there wasn't much point. He and Ginny had cleared the house of fragile items and put them in the attic as soon as Sirius was born, and hadn't even considered bringing them down since then.

Clothes, books, toys, potion supplies, Matt's school stuff, a few knick-knacks, and Harry's and Matt's brooms thumped down on the stone floor inside the trunks and suitcases they'd been packed in. House elves were waiting to carry them off to the living quarters laid out for Harry and his kids, and make everything comfortable there. Harry was more than a little bit fond of house elves, ever since Kreacher had accidentally revealed that R.A.B. was in fact Regulus Arcturus Black, the younger brother of Harry's godfather. Kreacher had been highly praised upon this discovery, and had been much nicer to Harry, all the way up to the day of his death when Ginny was first pregnant. He paid the house elves compliments and chatted with them politely while they looked in awe upon the new arrivals.

Harry held Charley against his hip with one arm while the other alternated between using his wand to move the trunks and grabbing hold of Sirius' shirt to keep him from running off. Charley was fussing because she had a cold, and Harry's shoulder was nearly soaked with snot and tears. Matt was depressed and had been acting disrespectful, which was shocking. Harry had never had to deal with Matt being disrespectful before. He supposed Matt was realizing that his dad was a fallible human being who could _completely_ screw up a marriage and family, and that was a hard thing to learn about your father. He snapped at Matt when the boy said something rude to a house elf, and once again lunged to grab Sirius before he could go dashing away with a ghost Harry didn't remember.

It was in this slightly less than dignified state that Draco Malfoy found him in as the latter entered the front doors himself. Well, perhaps Draco didn't really notice. He was looking harassed himself, shouting at a tall, blond man and his shorter coworker, who were carrying several crates inside and apparently not doing it delicately enough.

"That is fragile! Be careful!"

He noticed the Potter family trying to get organized, and nodded at Harry, who returned the nod, feeling for some reason that Malfoy looked different than he had two months ago when they'd last spoken.

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

"I didn't think you'd be here this early."

"I'm not," he shrugged. "I ordered several extremely volatile supplies from Sweden for my seventh-years, and they came early. I wanted to watch them unload and make sure there were no accidents. But _you_ seem to be moving in."

Harry nodded, and opened his mouth to speak. Charley sneezed several times and started crying again. He petted her hair and tried to soothe her while he answered. "I just wanted to give them a couple of weeks here before all the students arrived. I thought it might be too much of a shock to come here amidst all that confusion, especially for her," he indicated his daughter, bouncing her gently and laying his cheek on her head. "Shh, Daddy's here, Charley, you're all right."

Malfoy's expression wavered between revolted and fascinated. He started to say something, but abruptly changed his mind, and spun around to roar a few threats at the two men as they brought in another box. Harry rolled his eyes.

"You stop worrying so much about your image when you become a father," he told Malfoy when the other man turned around.

"I see," Malfoy said. "Well, let me just find a wife and I'll get straight to work on that theory."

Harry chuckled obligingly, but he didn't think Malfoy found it very funny. Oh, no way was Malfoy in _love_. That would just be too priceless.

Sirius had been tugging at his arm and whining something for the past several minutes, and Harry finally looked down. "_What_, Crash?"

"Matt says he can show me the Quidditch pitch," Sirius said, bouncing up and down with his excitement. "Please?"

Harry cast a glance at Matt, and knew Matt was just trying to keep Sirius happy. He'd been very self-sacrificing for the sake of his younger siblings all summer. "You'd be responsible for him."

Matt nodded, and Sirius shrieked with delight and tore back out into the sunlight, Matt on his heels calling for him to slow down. Harry rolled his eyes again, but this time using it to invite Malfoy to share the annoyed amusement with him. Because . . . well, he didn't know why. Just because. Then he noticed what had been nagging him, what was different about Malfoy.

"Hey, where's the cane?"

"Hm? Oh, I don't need it anymore." And he grinned.

"Why not?"  
"Madam's Pomfrey's genius, that's why not. I couldn't explain the whole thing to you, but she said Muggles did something similar, when they rebreak a bone that was badly set the first time. She basically tore my knee apart and rebuilt it. _Very_ painful, I assure you," he said with a shudder, "but effective." He smiled down at his knee, and bent it experimentally. "It's not one hundred percent, but a good deal better than before."

"Why didn't you do that years ago?"

"I was avoiding wizards, remember? I didn't want to be recognized."

"Oh, right." Harry looked down at Charley, who'd gone unusually quiet, and saw that she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. "You know, after the help you gave me, with Voldemort I mean, you could have come to me anytime. You wouldn't have had to go into hiding."

"You're forgetting the part where I went crazy, aren't you?" Malfoy asked, and his eyes looked haunted. "My mother . . ."

"Honestly, I understand that. I felt that way about Snape, after he killed Dumbledore. That's why the Weasley's . . . they were worried about me. They were afraid of what I might do to get revenge on Snape."

Draco frowned. "You— Potter, you were _there_. How could you not realize?"  
"Realize what?"

"Dumbledore didn't fight him. Didn't you . . . didn't you _know_? Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

"What?" Harry was starting to feel very sick to his stomach. Was there something about Dumbledore's murder he'd missed? Had Dumbledore told _Malfoy_ something he hadn't told Harry?

"Snape was supposed to kill him. Dumbledore wanted him to."

Harry barked out a laugh. "Yeah, okay."

Malfoy's face was grave. "I'm being serious, Potter. Snape told me all this himself, when he promised to get me away from the Death Eaters."

"Snape promised what?"

"He was looking out for me, just like Dumbledore asked him to. My mother forced him into an Unbreakable Vow, before our sixth year. He had to swear to kill Dumbledore if I didn't. He told Dumbledore straight away. Dumbledore said his life was worth less than having someone inside Voldemort's camp." Malfoy shook his head. "He was a spy for your side for like, fifteen years, Potter. Didn't you _know_ that?"

"Of course I knew that! I thought he defected or something!"

Malfoy gaped. "He kept mucking up Voldemort's plans, and Voldemort never knew who it was. He kept trying to keep me out of harm's way, and he fed lots of false information through the line about your whereabouts."

"But he never said . . ."

"Apparently Dumbledore didn't see fit to tell anyone that it was all arranged. Merlin, all this time I thought Snape got killed by _accident_. You mean the Weasels killed him on _purpose_?"

Harry and Draco stared at each other in shock and wonder. Malfoy almost looked like he would laugh, but he had tears in his eyes. Harry didn't know what he looked like. He felt like he was about to explode. He abruptly turned around and blasted a suit of armour into smithereens.

"God— damn it— fucking— Merlin— hell—" he said, aware he was incoherent but not able to help it. Individual words burst out, trying to vent his rage. "How— Dumbledore— SHIT!"

This last was so loud it woke Charlotte up, and she whimpered. He immediately patted her back and tried to soothe her. He paced back and forth like a caged animal, and Malfoy's eyes were on his wand, his own hand on the pocket where he likely had his. Harry sighed, and brought himself under control.

"You're sure?"

Malfoy nodded. "Like I said, Snape told me when he promised to get me out. Then he was dead," he shrugged, "and I was trapped."

Harry moved suddenly, raising his wand, and Malfoy had a shield up before he could blink, but Harry just pointed his wand at the metal splinters littering the stones. "_Reparo_." The suit of armour flew back into place, intact once more. "I'll resurrect Dumbledore and kill him again," he said calmly.

Malfoy put his wand away. "Think about it. If he'd told you before, you would have tried to protect him, and that would have screwed everything up. Snape might've gotten killed. And there wasn't exactly an opportunity after. He probably counted on Snape being able to look out for himself. He was a brilliant wizard, you know."  
"I . . . I need some time to sort all this out. I need to think," Harry muttered, but he could already feel acceptance of the truth settling into him. He should have known. All along, he should have known that Dumbledore was no fool, that he'd trusted Snape for a reason. Snape had been on his side all along. What he needed time to do was wrap his head around how wrong he'd been and learn to be humble and graceful about it. _That_ would be a long time from now, he thought.

"I'd better escort this stuff down to my storeroom," Malfoy said, looking entirely unhappy to be here now.

"Hang on a minute." He waited until he was sure Malfoy was paying attention. "First of all, thanks for telling me. Really. But I had something I wanted to talk to you about." Harry glanced at Charley to make sure she was sleeping, and eyed the two Swedish wizards to make sure they weren't listening. "I've heard a couple of rumours about you that I wanted to ask you about."

Malfoy shrugged. "Sure."

"I heard that you go down to Rosmerta's at least a couple of times a week, that you've been doing it all year. Do you think it's a good idea? I mean, with all the kids watching you, and now the rest of the world, maybe it would be better if you didn't drink so much, you know?"

Malfoy burst out laughing.

Harry scowled at him. "I'm serious, Malfoy, I really think—"

"Potter, you've been hearing rumours of rumours. Did you actually speak to Rosmerta?"

"No."

"I'll have a glass of mead every once in a while, maybe even a butterbeer for old times' sake, but she usually just lets me sit at one of her tables. I don't go there to drink."

"You don't? What do you do there, then?"

"You know electronic devices don't work inside Hogwarts."

"Yeah . . ."

Malfoy reached into his pocket and drew out a tangle of wires that connected to—

"You go to the Three Broomsticks to listen to your iPod?" Harry said dumbly.

Malfoy gave his pocket a fond pat as he tucked the wires back into it. "I'd go crazy if I couldn't listen to my music."

Now Harry laughed. "Well. That certainly eases my mind." He'd gotten himself all worked up over an iPod. Smooth. Then he frowned, remembering the rest of the story.

"What about the potions?"

Malfoy looked startled. "What potions? I'm not brewing anything illegal, I promise."

"No, I don't mean that. I've heard that you've been downing quite a few painkilling potions. I assume it was for your knee?"

Malfoy nodded slowly, looking unhappy.

"Well, I guess you won't need them so much now that Madam Pomfrey has fixed things up."  
"I . . . I guess not."

Harry frowned. "You're still taking them." It wasn't a question. And Malfoy didn't answer. Harry didn't know what to say at this point. He wasn't Malfoy's friend, nor his counselour. It just didn't seem right, to have his son's teacher be sucking down potions all the time. "Malfoy, maybe you should—"

"Potter, my problems are just that. My problems. Not yours."

"You don't think it'll end up affecting my son, my students?"

"No, I don't."

Harry struggled. He was going to see Malfoy every day, beginning in a few weeks. Now was not the time to start fostering bad feelings between them. What to say? Should he say anything?

"Draco. Do you need help?"

The use of his first name seemed to leave him tongue-tied. His battered, scarred face drooped. Then a miracle happened. Mute, looking at the ground, Malfoy nodded.

"Do you want me to help you?"

Again, he nodded. "Yes. You've already done a great deal for me. I don't pretend to understand it, but . . . it's becoming a problem. I think I've become addicted, and I don't like it." He looked up, with a smile of awful bitterness on his lips. "As strange as it is, you're the only one who's offered me anything since my identity was reavealed. I don't have anyone to go to. You're the savior, right? So save me."

Harry nodded. Matt and Sirius came rushing back in, exclaiming over the disappearance of their belongings, something Harry honestly hadn't noticed. Apparently, the two Swedes had decided they were on their own, too, because they'd taken the boxes away.

"If you want me to, I will."


	42. Letter 9

_My dearest brother Draco,_

_I hear you're doing well at your school. Apparently, playing the hero gets you ahead in the wizarding world. I'll have to remember that. You see, I've fully joined your world now. Yes, that's right—I've got myself a wand. And someone who is teaching me to use it. But don't be afraid, brother. I won't use it on you unless you give me a reason. Family's got to count for something, doesn't it? You might warn the rest of our kind not to get on my bad side, though. My tutor tells me I have an affinity for Dark magic, which pleases him for some reason._

_Oh, and you might want to go carefully. I __will__ have that house someday. I know our father didn't leave a will, and I mean to have __something__ of his. I've already taken his name, I mean something tangible. You might not want to get on my bad side, either, come to think of it._

_Until we meet again, I remain,_

_Your devoted brother,_

_Maximilian Malfoy_

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**Well, everybody, that's it! Thanks for reading my story, and thanks for the reviews! As promised, there will be a sequel. I will probably begin posting it next week. Start looking for _Brothers and Sons_ in a few days. I hope to see you, and a few new faces, next week!**

**Thanks again,**

**Faren**


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